


All but Death

by motleygrrrl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aurors, Blood and Gore, Childhood Trauma, Death, Distrust, Falling In Love, Fear, Grief/Mourning, Horror, M/M, Malfoy Manor, Murder, Mystery, Post-Hogwarts, Protectiveness, Sexual Content, Suspicions, Trapped, Trust, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:25:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 66,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23160142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motleygrrrl/pseuds/motleygrrrl
Summary: Trapped in Malfoy Manor—no way out, no guarantees they'll make it out alive. When Harry receives an invitation from Draco Malfoy for an upcoming class reunion being held at Malfoy Manor, he's not sure what to think. Against his better judgment he accepts, only to discover that the party may just cost his classmates more than they realized. Will they manage to find a way out before the dead start to outnumber the living?After all, what's the worst that could happen?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Pansy Parkinson/Blaise Zabini
Comments: 50
Kudos: 89





	1. The Good Die First

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Internet! Welcome to my twisted imagination! I hope you all have a lovely time lost inside it :) What you are about to read is the second mystery I've ever written in my life, so yaaay! I had so much fun writing the first one that I decided another murder mystery could only be even more fun! Especially if there was lots more murder in it! Before we get into the fun murder of it all though, there are a couple of warnings to please take note of:
> 
> The first warning—surprise!—is the one regarding the violence and amount of bloodshed in this story. I'm serious. Shit's 'bout to start getting real gory real fast here, my darlings. I'm talking 80's B-movie horror level of gore. (Seriously, I might have overdone it just a bit with the death and gore. I live for an overly-violent B-horror flick.) This is going to be a very dark story, featuring a whole fuckload of character death and woe—although, like my previous murder mystery, I promise that both Harry and Draco shall make it through alive, if not exactly unscathed. But the others (and there will be a lotta familiar faces here!) won't be so lucky.
> 
> There is also a warning for all the extreme profanity contained in this particular tale—I'm talking Tarantino-level profanity, muthafuckas. And a story with violence and profanity is never complete without sex! The gay kind of sex. Pretty much the gayest kind of sex imaginable. Violence, profanity, and gay sex :) We are in for some good times, lovers! (Unless you happen to be squeamish, overly decorous, or homophobic, in which case, maybe don't read this story.) But the latter traits are obviously not as much fun to be and we are all clearly fun people, so let's do this thing, friends!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _"The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket."_**  
>  ― William Wordsworth

Malfoy had not said a single word.

Harry glanced at him again, desperate to look anywhere but down at the blood staining his hands. Malfoy looked blank, almost numb, and Harry could see his fingers trembling in his lap. Specks of blood were splattered across the pale skin of his face, and although his expression was blank, Harry could see fear in his steel-colored eyes. It was that lost, hopeless sense of terror radiating from the man that convinced Harry that Malfoy was not the one responsible.

But if not him, then who?

"All right!" Hermione's voice sliced through the growing panic like a spell, capturing everyone's attention, heads snapping up to stare at her in open fright. "I think the first thing we need to do is check everybody's wands one at a time. We're not sure yet if that was a spell or a potion, but if it was a spell, then we need to know who cast it."

"And if it was a potion?" a frightened voice cried. "What if we were all poisoned as well?"

Hermione shook her head. "I think we would have seen similar results by now if that were the case."

"What's happening? Why won't the house let us leave?" a voice demanded, and Harry craned his neck to try to see who had spoken. There were quite a few people there that, although he had attended Hogwarts with them for years, he had had very little contact with and could hardly recognize them by name, let alone by voice.

"What is going on?" Padma Patil sobbed, and Parvati pulled her closer into her side, trying to comfort her despite her own obvious fear. "What the hell just happened in that room?"

"We need to figure out a way to get out of here!" another voice called, the crowd began to murmur as more and more people started to speak over one another, the panic beginning to grow again.

"All the doors are locked!"

"I can't Apparate!"

A sudden fusillade of bright sparks shot up overhead as Hermione cast a spell to call for attention, the sight of the sparks succeeding in quieting everyone as they once again turned to face her.

"We are going to remain calm about this," she said in an even voice, face set in a grim determination. "I know that what just happened was awful, but panicking is only going to make the situation worse. The first thing we need to do is check everyone's wands one at a time to find out who it was that cast that spell. Then we can work on finding a way out of here."

"Who the hell elected her Head Girl?" a voice muttered, and Harry glared into the crowd.

"Check the Slytherin wands first!" someone demanded hotly. "It had to be one of them! They're the ones who invited everyone here, it has to be one of them! It was probably all of them! They brought us all here just to kill us!"

"We didn't do a damn thing to that girl!" Zabini snapped, stepping forward angrily. "Do you really think any of us are stupid enough to commit murder in front of a hundred fucking witnesses?"

"Check Malfoy's wand first!" somebody shouted, and at that, Malfoy glanced up, face hardening as he slowly climbed to his feet.

"Do you really think I would be foolish enough to commit murder in my own home?" he asked in a low voice, glaring at Anthony Goldstein. "Especially with three fucking Aurors and whatever the hell Granger does in the DMLE present?"

"Yes," Goldstein said simply, crossing his arms and glaring right back at the blond.

"You need to back the fuck off, Goldstein," Zabini growled, the Slytherins all moving closer together as though expecting to be attacked by the crowd. "I already told you that none of us did it!"

"And we're supposed to just believe you?" Zacharias Smith stepped forward to speak, and Harry wanted to roll his eyes. Why the hell had Malfoy even invited that prat in the first place?

"Believe whatever the fuck you want, Smith," Malfoy snapped, fists clenching. "I don't have a damn thing to prove to you. But if it would appease your fragile sensibilities and overwhelming terror of me, I'll be more than happy to have Granger check my wand."

Marching forward, he flung his arm out to hand his wand to Hermione, surprising Harry with his readiness to hand it over so easily. He had been certain that it had not been Malfoy who had committed the horrid act, but it still surprised the brunet to see him so willing to hand his wand over to another person.

Accepting it with a nod, Hermione cast a quick _Prior Incantato_ on Malfoy's wand, revealing that the last spell Malfoy had done was an _a_ _ccio_. Harry couldn't help but wonder what the blond had summoned.

"Are you fucking satisfied now?" Malfoy grit out, snatching his wand back from Hermione and glaring at Goldstein and Smith. Neither of them said a word, simply glaring right back.

"Now the other Slytherins," Seamus said, shooting a hard look at the group of Slytherins huddled together on the other side of the room.

"It had to be one of them!"

"We should lock them up right now before they can do it to someone else!"

"They fucking planned this, they brought us here just to kill us all off!"

The crowd continued to yell, beginning to converge on the small group of Slytherins, and Harry could see the way their fists tightened around their wands as they prepared to defend themselves.

"Everybody just shut up!" Harry shouted, jumping to his feet. "We are not going to escalate this any further before we even know who it was that cast that damn spell! Hermione," he turned to her, holding out his wand, "check my wand and then I'll start checking the Slytherins' wands just so everyone calms the fuck down. Ron, you start on that side of the room while Hermione keeps going with this side. Is everybody okay with that?" Eyes narrowed, he glared at the crowd, waiting for some sort of comment or complaint but was only met with silence.

Taking that to mean that everybody was in approval, he waited for Hermione to check his wand and hand it back before striding over to the Slytherins, who all stepped even closer together.

"None of us cast that spell, Potter," Malfoy said, shooting a dark look over Harry's shoulder.

"I never said any of you did," Harry sighed. If he was being honest with himself, he had no idea who to suspect. The Slytherins would have been his first guess too for the guilty culprit, but there was something about the genuine fear radiating from them that was making Harry second-guess his earlier suspicion. "Let me just check each of your wands though so nobody can accuse you of anything, yeah?"

Zabini stepped forward, giving Harry a searching, complicated look, saying nothing for long moments before handing his wand to Harry without a word. Sighing again, Harry began to make his way through the group of Slytherins, feeling both frustrated and relieved as wand after wand proved innocent. It wasn't long before there were no wands left to check, and Harry turned to face the larger crowd behind him, practically feeling their gazes dragging over his back.

"None of them did it," he told the others, and saw more than one shake of a head and distrustful glare thrown their way. "None of them cast anything Dark," he repeated. "I checked every one of their wands."

"Harry," Hermione said in a quiet voice, pulling him across the room to speak with him privately. A moment later, Ron was beside them, looking grim. "Did either of you find who it was?"

Both men shook their heads.

"Neither did I," she frowned, studying the crowd.

"How is that possible though, Hermione?" Ron wondered, turning to study the crowd himself. "We checked everybody here, and we're the only ones in the house."

"It wasn't the Slytherins," Harry said, feeling worried. Who the hell had killed her?

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Ron said darkly. "Maybe one of them cast the spell, then immediately cast another spell right after so the _Prior Incantato_ would read that one instead."

"You could say that about any one of the others as well," Harry pointed out, not sure why he was defending the Slytherins.

"Yeah, but none of the others are psychotic," Ron argued. "I think Smith might be right about locking them all up, at least until we can figure out a way to get out of here."

"We are not locking anybody up until we know for certain that they're guilty," Hermione interrupted. "Harry said that he checked the wands and I believe him when he said he didn't find anything. We checked all the others and are allowing them to remain free, and we're going to extend the same courtesy to the Slytherins. We can't let things escalate; we have to remain calm and keep the others from panicking. Things could turn very violent very quickly if we start immediately pointing fingers, especially without any evidence to back it up."

"Right, okay," Ron sighed. "What do we all do now then?"

"So who was it?" a voice demanded, and the three of them turned to find Smith staring at them with narrowed eyes. "Who the hell cast that fucking spell?"

Exchanging a look between the three of them, Hermione answered in a heavy voice. "We don't know," she said, sounding weary. "None of us found anything incriminating on any of the wands."

"What the hell does that mean?" Smith asked furiously. "It had to be someone in this room! Aren't the three of you supposed to the most powerful witch and wizards of our generation?" he sneered the words mockingly. "And you can't find whoever it was who fucking _killed_ her?! I still have her blood on me! Someone in this room did it!"

"Stop it, Smith," Neville cut in, stepping forward as well and folding his arms across his chest. "You're not the only one who watched her die and you're not helping anything right now."

"Yeah, Smith, shut the fuck up!" a voice called, and the crowd began to murmur once more.

" _Everybody_ shut the fuck up!" Ron said loudly, appearing satisfied when the crowd quieted down.

"Now," Hermione said, voice calm, "I think what we need to focus on for the moment is finding a way out. I want everybody who has not already attempted Apparition to try."

Everyone nodded, and Harry closed his eyes to concentrate, picturing the sitting room of his cozy London flat and preparing to Disapparate…only to hit a wall; something was preventing him from leaving the Manor, a solid wall that he could not get past. Gritting his teeth, his eyes snapped open to find similar looks of frustration on everybody else's face.

"Well," Hermione said dryly, "based on the fact that we're all still here, I'm going to assume that nobody was successful. Malfoy," she turned to address the blond, who had been speaking quietly to Parkinson, "have you tried your Floo yet?"

Shaking his head, he crossed the room to the large fireplace, orange flames popping and crackling loudly. He picked up a large handful of Floo powder from the bowl atop the mantle, throwing it into the flames and waiting expectantly.

But nothing happened. The flames remained orange and just as hot as ever, and Harry felt the worry in his bones worsen. What the hell was happening? Were they truly trapped inside Malfoy Manor? Who the hell had trapped them and what the hell did they want?

"Harry," Hermione said in a low voice, glancing uneasily at the panicked whisperings of the crowd. "Send a Patronus to Robards explaining the situation."

"Right," Harry nodded, casting it quickly and ignoring the gasps from the crowd as they watched the moon-white stag burst to life and gallop away.

"We've sent for the other Aurors," Hermione told everyone. "Help should be here soon, and I've no doubt they'll find a way to get us out of here. For the time being, I think we should seal off the room she died in,"—strange how they all had yet to actually say her name, something Harry had not noticed until that very moment—"and then we can all wash up. I'm not sure how long it will take for the Aurors to get the message or how long it will take for them to find a way to get us out of here, so we may be here for at least a few more hours. Don't be surprised if we end up having to stay the night."

"I am not spending the night in this place!" Smith said hotly, and Harry heard several murmurs of agreement.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Hermione said in a cool voice, face expressionless as she eyed Smith, "I hadn't realized that you had come up with your own brilliant plan for getting us all out of here. I'm certain we would all love to hear it."

At her words, Smith flushed, opening his mouth to say god knows what, but a single glare from Ron silenced the annoying blond.

"Now," Hermione continued, ignoring Smith, "I think we should all spend the night together. Hopefully, we won't be here very long, but in case it comes to it, the dining room is more than large enough to fit us all comfortably, and we can all conjure beds to sleep on."

"But we still don't know who killed her!" Parkinson blurted, eyes narrowed. "And you want everyone to spend the night in a room with the murderer?"

"Would you rather spend it all alone?" Hermione asked pointedly, and Parkinson paused as she considered the words, seeming to shudder at the thought of spending the night alone after witnessing such a horrific incident.

"I'm not spending the night with _them_!" Smith glared at the Slytherins in the corner. "I say we lock them all together in a separate room for the night. If one of them is dead in the morning, then we know the killer is a Slytherin."

"And if one of us really is the killer," Zabini said in a smooth voice, head tilted as he gazed at Smith with burning loathing, "do you really think it wise to offend us so openly?"

"Is that a threat?" Smith demanded, pulling his wand from his robes. Zabini pulled his free as well and took a step forward, hatred etched into every centimeter of his face.

"Stop it, both of you!" Hermione said sharply, pulling out her own wand. "Nobody is getting locked up and nobody is fighting! And I will personally deal with anyone I find antagonizing anybody else or inciting any sort of panic!"

At the warning, both boys fell back a step, continuing to glower at one another.

"We're not staying here," Malfoy said, tugging Zabini back toward the rest of them. "You lot can spend the night in the dining room together; we'll spend it in my own private chambers. I don't trust a single one of you and I certainly will not allow myself to fall asleep in your company."

"We'll try not to miss you too much," Smith sneered, and Malfoy put a hand on Zabini's arm to prevent him from taking another step forward.

"You heard Hermione, Smith," Harry said quietly, unable to prevent the scorching dislike he had always felt for the other man from searing through his veins like wildfire. "If I have to hex your mouth shut, I will."

Smith glared but said nothing to the comment.

"I suppose I can't force you to spend the night in the dining room," Hermione sighed. "If it would make all of you more comfortable to spend it by yourselves, then I don't see a problem with it. But," she turned to speak to the entire crowd, "nobody should be wandering around on their own right now. We still have no idea what's going on or who was responsible for killing her. And we have no idea if something like that is going to happen again. So try to always be around at least two others at all times, at least until we start getting some answers."

"Is that everything then?" Nott spoke up, sounding bored. "I would like to go to bed and try to forget that I now know what a person's intestines look like or the fact that we're all still covered in her blood." The comment received glares and looks of outrage, but Nott ignored them all as he climbed to his feet. "Well then," he said with a gesture, "lead the way, Draco. Let's get the hell out of here."

Mouth tightening, Malfoy nodded and, without another word, swept from the room, the Slytherins trailing close behind him.

Sighing, Harry turned back to the crowd. "Well then," he said in what he hoped was a steady tone, "let's head to the dining room and get set up for the night."

***

The door slammed shut behind Harry, rattling the walls of his tiny flat as he flicked his wand and set a fire crackling in the grate of the fireplace. Lord, it was cold outside. He supposed he could have cast a warming charm, but he always seemed to forget until he was already back inside.

Crossing the room, he took off his jacket and tossed it over the back of the sofa, heading to the kitchen for a lager. Spelling the lid from the bottle, he took a long swallow, muscles aching from the intense training Robards had them undergoing at work. "Fucking slave driver," Harry groaned, rolling his head from side to side and feeling the muscles in the back of his neck burn—his upper body felt as though it had been set on fire.

A sudden tapping at the window drew his attention from his aching muscles, and he set the half-empty bottle of lager down on the table before reentering the sitting room. An owl stared at him from the other side of the window, and Harry crossed the room to let it in, noting that it was a very large, very handsome owl holding what appeared to be some sort of scroll with a rather fancy-looking seal and a black satin bow.

Feeling curious, Harry untied the bow and slit the seal, opening the scroll to find ebony ink as black as the bow staring up at him. The more he read, the higher his eyebrows rose, until he was certain he must look ridiculous. _Is this invitation for real?_

Striding to the fireplace, he threw a pinch of Floo powder in before sticking his head in the emerald flames and calling out Hermione's address. A moment and some nausea later and he was staring at the inside of her flat. "Hermione!" he called loudly, hoping she had not barricaded herself in her private study as she was so fond of doing. "Hermione!"

"I'm right here, Harry, what is it?" she asked a split second before appearing in his view. She dropped down on the floor before the fire, crossing her legs as she stared at Harry curiously.

"Did you get it too?" Harry demanded. "In the post?"

At the questions, she looked confused. "Get what in the post?"

"Some invitation thing to some class reunion thing that Malfoy is apparently throwing," Harry told her, having to fight the urge to gesture wildly. "At Malfoy Manor. Next month. It says that he invited everyone in our year and that it's for our year only. Didn't you get one?"

Hermione's brow furrowed as she rose to cross to her coffee table, littered with unopened letters and quills, pots of ink and hastily-scrawled on parchments. "Do you mean this?" She held up a similar scroll to the one that Harry had received only minutes ago.

"Yes!"

Frowning, she opened it and quickly scanned the words, frown deepening.

"Well, what do you think?" Harry demanded. "This has to be some sort of trap or something, right?"

"I'm not sure," she said slowly. "What would be the benefit for him from that? And to invite so many people into a trap so easily traced back to him? Malfoy's never quite been _that_ obvious with his schemes. He's always been a bit more cunning in his planning."

"Yeah, among other things he's always been," Harry muttered.

"I have to admit, I'm curious," Hermione said, still staring down at the invitation. "Whether this is some sort of ill-planned trap or not."

"Yeah," Harry agreed grudgingly, not willing to admit that, although his instincts were telling him not to go, a strong part of him wanted to accept the invitation out some morbid sense of curiosity. "But it's at Malfoy Manor, Hermione!"

Hermione opened her mouth to say something before her head suddenly snapped to the side. "Hold on a second, Harry, I think there's an owl at my window." She disappeared from view and Harry waited impatiently, counting the seconds and trying his best to ignore the throbbing in his neck muscles.

Finally, she reappeared, carrying a letter. "It's from Malfoy," she said, sounding surprised as she slit the seal and shook the letter loose. _"Granger,"_ she read, _"I'm certain that by now you have received my invitation regarding the get-together I am throwing in a few weeks' time—a Hogwarts class reunion, of sorts. I would like to begin this letter by assuring you that it really is genuine and is in no way some sort of trick."_ At that, Harry rolled his eyes. " _I know that many of us are still struggling in the aftermath of the war and I am hoping that this gathering will go a long way to mending fences between everyone and hopefully putting to rest lingering resentments and allowing bygones to become bygones. I know you have no reason to trust me, but the other Slytherins and I have decided to swallow our pride,"—_ Harry snorted—" _by extending an olive branch. You are, of course, in no way obligated to attend, but I do hope that the three of you will show. I am aware that the Manor does not have good memories for either you, Potter, or Weasley—especially you, Granger, and for that I truly am sorry. I am hoping that by coming here under happier circumstances, it will allow the three of you to see the house in a different light and perhaps put to rest any lingering shadows from your last visit here. All the remaining Slytherins are trying our hardest to move on from the past, and we would like nothing more than the chance to prove to the three of you that we truly have changed. I hope to see you in a few weeks' time. Best regards, Draco Malfoy."_

Falling silent, she looked up from the letter, still appearing surprised. "Well, I was certainly not expecting any of that."

"Are you really buying that?" Harry demanded, feeling an irrational sense of hurt sweep through him at the thought of Malfoy sending Hermione a letter of apology and not sending one to Harry as well. Harry was the one who had saved the git's life! Why wasn't he also owed gratitude and an apology?

"I'm not sure," she said thoughtfully, gazing back down at the parchment in her hands. "It seems genuine. And it's like I said, what can he do to us that won't be instantly traced back to him? He's left a very open paper trail, after all. And Malfoy is nothing if not self-preserving; he wouldn't go about seeking revenge in such an obvious way. It could only hurt himself if he were to try. Maybe he really does want to attempt a fresh start."

"Is that even possible with his past?"

Hermione shrugged. "I'm certain it won't be easy, and I'm certain that it won't be possible for him to mend fences with everybody from our year. But I think the fact that he's willing to try, despite the way the entire nation still views him, is at least commendable. I think it's at least worth considering."

"But it's at the Manor, Hermione," Harry said in a quiet voice, feeling himself shudder at the memory of his one and only visit to the horrid house. "Would you really be okay with going back to that place?"

At the question, Hermione dropped her gaze, twisting a lock of hair around one finger. "I'm not sure, to tell you the truth," she admitted softly, speaking down to the floor. "But…I think he has a point, about seeing the house in a different light and hopefully getting some sort of closure to the trauma we all suffered there. I think…" she took a deep breath, glancing up at Harry, "I think that if he really is extending an olive branch as he says, then I think that I would at least like to try. I don't want the past to continue to haunt me. And maybe going there will only make the memories worse, but…" she bit her lip, "but maybe going there might just make it better. Maybe it will finally make those memories start to fade."

Harry stared at her in both shock and admiration. "You're being serious. You really want to accept his invitation."

"I'm curious," she shrugged, but Harry could see that she was attempting to make the movement more casual than it was. "And it's not as if we'll have to stay. If we get there and find it to be too much, for any of us, then all we have to do is leave. It's not like he can keep us trapped there, can he?"

"Yeah," Harry muttered, knowing that he would accept the blasted invitation if Hermione was going to. "What's the worst that could happen?"

***

Harry woke to the sound of screaming.

Bolting upright, he glanced around for his glasses, spotting them next to him and jamming them on his face before jumping to his feet. At first he was confused—where had everybody gone? The beds they had Conjured were still there but they were all empty.

"Harry," a voice said to his left, and he turned to find Hermione and Ron staring past him, the rest of the crowd huddled against the wall behind them gazing over Harry's shoulder in horror.

Dread crunched through him as he slowly turned, not wanting to see whatever it was that had everybody so scared. His heart stopped at the sight that met him. The first thing he saw was blood—an entire sea of blood painting its surroundings in dark splashes and forming a rust-colored puddle on the floor.

Then, Harry noticed the body.

The stiff corpse of a girl their age was leaning against the far wall, sitting right in the center of a large pool of half-dried blood, eyes wide open as she gazed down at her lap. Her hands rested on the tops of her thighs, palms facing up and fingers curled loosely. They were completely unmoving and stained crimson; her long brown hair fell on both sides of her face like a curtain, the tips looking nearly black from the amount of dried blood in the chestnut-colored strands.

But none of that was what Harry could not stop staring at. A large horizontal gash had slit her stomach open, spilling entrails and innards across her lap, and Harry had to fight the urge to be sick at the sight. Something, whether it was a knife or a spell, had slashed her apart and left her to bleed out in a room full of people, and not one of them had noticed a thing until a few minutes ago.

"What the hell happened, Hermione?" he whispered, turning away from the gruesome sight.

"We don't know," Hermione answered, sounding grim. "Padma was the one who first noticed her."

"S-someone killed M-M-Mandy," Padma sobbed, clutching at Parvati to keep herself upright. "I woke up and she w-wasn't in the bed next to m-me and so I got up to look for her, and—and—" she gestured toward the wall, unable to continue.

"Mandy Brocklehurst was in the bed next to you when you both fell asleep?" Harry asked, moving closer to Padma, who nodded in response.

"She f-f-fell asleep before me," the girl cried, "I know she d-did! I c-couldn't sleep, but I know she w-w-was still there when I finally d-did!"

"Which bed was she in?" Harry asked in a quiet voice, feeling sympathy burn through him as Parvati held her sister even tighter. "Can you show me, Padma?"

Nodding again, Padma pulled herself from Parvati's embrace and led Harry over to a bed in the very center of the group of Conjured mattresses, walking slowly on legs that trembled and shook. "She was r-right here," she told him, a fresh sob tearing its way free from her throat as she looked down at the bed.

"And you didn't hear her get up at all during the night?" Harry asked, placing a hand on her shoulder in comfort.

"N-n-n-o!" Padma shook her head.

"Did anybody hear anything at all?" Harry turned to the others. " _Anything_ during the night? Did anybody wake up to notice her not in her bed?"

Everybody shook their heads, most still gazing at Mandy's unmoving body in horror.

"Everybody get in a line," Hermione ordered, striding to Harry's side. "I'm checking everyone's wands again."

"Yeah, because that worked so well last time," Smith drawled sarcastically, earning more than one glare. "We all know who did it," he continued, "and it wasn't anybody in this room! I told you we should have locked the Slytherins up! And now Brocklehurst is dead!"

"Why don't we start with your wand first?" Hermione suggested in a cold voice. "Because for your information, I _did_ ward all the entrances to this room last night."

That seemed to shut Smith up for a moment, who looked as though he wanted to argue but wisely thought better of it.

"Give her your fucking wand, Smith," Ron said dangerously, straightening his spine.

"How do we know _she_ didn't do it?" Smith replied, tone scathing. "She keeps checking wands without having to get hers checked!"

At the accusation, Ron took a threatening step forward, and Hermione quickly stepped closer to his side to place a hand on his arm.

"Let Potter check them!" somebody said, and the crowd murmured in agreement.

Hermione offered him a wry smile as she held out her wand for him to take. "Well, Harry, it seems they trust you more than me at the moment."

"You're all barking mad if you think Hermione had anything to do with this," Harry told them, accepting the wand and casting a quick _Priori Incantatum_. "See?"

"Now you, Smith," Ron growled, and Smith's hand tightened around his wand. "If I have to rip your whole hand from your body to get that wand, I'll do it."

"Yeah, right before you gut me just like you did her?" Smith raised his chin defiantly, and Harry and Hermione both had to hold Ron back at the accusation.

"Just give them the wand, Smith," Neville said in a hard voice. "Are you seriously accusing Ron and Hermione of being responsible for Mandy's death? You do realize who they are, don't you? And that they both work in law enforcement?"

"Yeah, Smith," Dean said behind him, "how's _your_ job of washing dishes at the Leaky Cauldron going?"

Smith flushed at the question, marching forward angrily to hand Harry his wand without a word. Sighing, Harry checked it and handed it back.

"All right, then," he said to the group, "everybody form a line."

"How is this possible, Hermione?" Ron said in a low voice, the three of them all standing together in the corner of the lounge everybody had relocated to after the wand check. "We checked everybody _again_ and didn't find a single thing!"

"I'm not sure," Hermione said, sounding worried. "I wasn't lying when I said I warded all the doors last night. So whatever any of them are thinking about the Slytherins being guilty, they couldn't possibly have gotten inside that room to kill her."

Harry's stomach suddenly dropped as a horrible thought occurred to him. "You don't think something happened to them too, do you?" Without waiting for a response, Harry pulled his wand from his pocket and began to stride from the room, only to be stopped by Hermione's hand on his arm.

"Harry, where are you going? We can't be wandering around on our own!" she reminded him, trying to tug him back.

"I'll be fine," Harry told her, pulling his arm free. "I have to go find them, Hermione, I need to make sure!"

"Then Ron and I are coming too," she said grimly, and Ron sighed but nodded.

"No," Harry shook his head. "You two need to stay here and keep everyone from panicking. And keep Smith from talking as much as possible. Just keep everyone calm and I'll go find the Slytherins and bring them back, all right?"

"I'll come with you, Harry," Neville said quietly, coming up behind him. "Hermione and Ron can keep an eye on everyone here and you and I will go look for the others."

"All right," Harry nodded, feeling a thread of relief at the thought of having another Auror to watch his back. "That fine with the two of you?" he asked Hermione and Ron, who exchanged a glance but nodded.

"Let's go then, Nev," Harry said, feeling a nearly frantic need to get to the Slytherins to check that everything was all right. The two men strode from the room and paused, glancing around themselves. "Um, you don't happen to know where Malfoy's bedroom is, do you?"

"I feel like I'm one of the last people you should be asking _that_ question to," Neville said dryly, and Harry snorted. "I'm guessing that all the bedrooms are upstairs, though."

Nodding, Harry led the way to the large staircase and they began to ascend in silence. The higher they climbed, the more Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, feeling an unexplainable wariness settling over him. It felt as though the house was watching them. Even though it was morning, the sky outside was a steely grey the color of wet cement and the inside of the house was much darker than Harry would have expected. Shadows clung to the walls like a layer of ink-stained skin, and Harry found himself glancing uneasily at everything they passed, having to remind himself that nothing was waiting to jump out at them from the darkness.

A loud creak had him whirling around, wand drawn, but there was nothing in sight. The hallway was empty.

"This house is bloody creepy, isn't it?" Neville muttered, and Harry noticed how tight the man's grip on his wand was as well.

"How the hell does Malfoy live here alone?" Harry wondered, lighting the tip of his wand with a Lumos and holding it up in an attempt to dispel the shadows, but the light only seemed to create even more of them, somehow appearing to multiply the haunting shadows until Harry felt nearly caged in by the darkness.

Neville shrugged. "Maybe that's why he threw a party for so many people. Maybe he wanted the Manor to seem less empty."

"Yeah, this party has definitely cheered the place right up."

Another creak sounded, and Harry glanced around himself uneasily. It sounded as though the very house was groaning.

Without warning, Harry reached out to pull Neville to a stop. "Do you hear that?" he whispered. "I think I heard footsteps."

Both men stood silent and unmoving, listening hard for any sounds. "I don't hear any—" Neville began, only to be cut off by Harry.

"There it is again!" Harry hissed, certain that he had heard soft footsteps drawing nearer from somewhere along the hallway. Both men shifted into defensive stances, readying themselves for whatever was coming for them from the shadows.

But everything was quiet. The footsteps had stopped; nothing was moving.

Then, a voice said, "Potter," as a figure stepped forward into the light, and Harry and Neville reacted on instinct, Harry casting a disarming spell as Neville cast a shield charm over the two of them.

"For fuck's sake, Potter, why are you attacking me?!"

At the question, Harry finally recognized the voice and they both immediately backed down, Neville cancelling the shield charm as Malfoy stepped forward, glaring.

"What the fuck?" he demanded, holding out his hand for his wand.

"I didn't know it was you, sorry," Harry relented, tossing the wand back to the blond.

"Well who the fuck were you expecting? This is my home, you know," the Slytherin pointed out, tucking his wand away.

Harry and Neville exchanged a glance. "Er, is it just you out here, Malfoy?"

"Yes, because the others are cowards," Malfoy responded with a roll of his eyes. "I thought I heard someone walking around out here and I wanted to know who it was. The others were content to live in ignorance, so I left them in ignorance."

"And are all of you okay?" Harry asked, wand still held in a tight grip.

"Yes," Malfoy gave him an odd look. "We're all fine. We barricaded ourselves in my bedchambers like I told you we would."

"So nobody got in last night?" the brunet pressed, stepping closer to Malfoy to check him over for any harm. The man seemed uninjured.

"No," Malfoy said cautiously.

"And were you the first to leave your room this morning?"

"Yes," Malfoy nodded, appearing even more wary. "What happened, Potter?"

Sighing, Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Get the others and bring them back downstairs. We all need to talk as a group to decide the next best move."

"What happened, Potter?" Malfoy demanded, taking a step closer. "Something bad has clearly happened, what is it?"

Sighing again, Harry tugged on his fringe. "Mandy Brocklehurst is dead," he answered in a flat voice. "We woke up and found her lying in a pool of blood."

"What?" Malfoy paled and fell back a step. " _What?_ She's _dead?_ Another person died? _How?_ "

"We don't know," Harry said honestly, wishing he had an answer to the question. "We checked all the wands again but found nothing."

"Well, it was obviously someone in that room!" Malfoy said instantly. "You lot can't blame any of us for this one, we weren't even on the same floor!"

"Nobody is blaming you, Malfoy," Neville cut in, and Malfoy turned to him with narrowed eyes. "But we need to talk this out as a group."

"Fine," Malfoy said in a cool voice. "I'll go get the others. You two head back downstairs, we'll meet you there."

"We'll come with you," Harry said, starting forward, but a hard look from Malfoy stopped him.

"Potter," he said, voice even colder than before, "somebody in that room killed her. I trust nobody who was present for that, yourself included, I'm sorry to say. The others and I will come down for your little meeting, but if we have to barricade ourselves in my bedroom again, I don't want anyone else knowing where my bedroom is."

Harry couldn't help but grit his teeth at that, swallowing down the retort he longed to make. "Fine, Malfoy," he ground out. "Just be downstairs with them in the next five minutes. We need to get this shit sorted and find a way out of this fucking house."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed but he said nothing, simply crossed his arms and stared pointedly at the two Aurors until they took the hint and turned back the way they had come, making their way back downstairs to the lounge.

***

"This is weird, Hermione," Harry muttered, sipping the glass of champagne he had taken from the long table at the front of the enormous room.

"Yeah, too bloody weird," Ron agreed, glancing around. "I mean, it's not like we were really that close with any of the people here back in school, were we? Even if we were in the same year. I still can't believe you convinced me to come."

"Don't be so easily convinced then," Hermione smirked, sipping her own champagne.

"I don't even want to know how you convinced him," Harry said pointedly, grinning as Seamus and Dean came up to say hi.

"Hey, Harry, we heard you three were gonna be here," Dean said with a nod.

"Wouldn't've come if you lot hadn't shown," Seamus said, looking around at their fellow classmates. "Had to see the place though, didn't we? Always been curious about what this place looked like."

"Plus, Seamus wanted all the free food and drinks," Dean added with a grin.

"Only reason Ron's here as well," Harry jerked his chin in the redhead's direction, earning a good-natured grin.

"No arguing with that," he agreed, raising his glass to Seamus before tossing the whole thing back.

"Fucking good food," Seamus nodded. "Although I could've done without that hour-long speech Malfoy made at dinner about becoming reformed and listing all the war charities he's donated to and his hope that we might set aside the past in the face of a brighter future or whatever the fuck he was twaddling on about. You'd think he thought he was fucking McGonagall or something with the way he kept talking. Now _that_ is a woman who likes to make speeches."

"Always been a pretentious git though, yeah?" Ron said, looking for somewhere to set his empty glass before Vanishing it with a shrug. "Malfoy, I mean, not McGonagall. Not that she didn't have her moments, mind you."

"Malfoy, pretentious?" Dean asked sarcastically, pretending to sound shocked. "When did that start happening?"

They all snorted.

"Seriously though," Ron said, gesturing around the room, "we're literally standing in the ballroom of his stupidly-sized mansion right now _._ Who the bloody buggering hell has a fucking _ballroom_ in their _home?_ "

"There's definitely something weird about this house," Seamus agreed.

"I'm going up for another drink," Harry announced, copying Ron and Vanishing his empty glass. "I'll be back in just a second." Turning away from the group, he made his way across the large room toward the long table laden with glasses.

"Enjoying the party, Potter?" a voice drawled to his left, and he turned to see Malfoy leaning casually against the table, gazing at him calmly.

"It's fine enough, I s'pose," Harry shrugged, unsure what Malfoy wanted to talk about. He had never willingly engaged Harry in civil conversation before. "Although I still don't get why you threw it in the first place."

Malfoy sighed. "Did you not listen to anything I said at dinner?" At the question, Harry shrugged again. "All we want is to be able to move on with our lives. We want the past to finally stop punishing us for the stupid decisions we made as children."

"It hasn't even been two years since the war ended," Harry pointed out. "It's not like you're a decade older now or anything. Maybe just give people time to move on from things on their own schedule."

Malfoy sighed again, sounding frustrated. "Are you saying you haven't grown up at all since the war ended? We all have; none of us is the same person we were two years ago. And the other Slytherins and I just want the chance to prove that—all we're hoping for is the chance to be seen in a different light, and we figured why not start with the people we spent almost every single day of Hogwarts with?"

"So you're hoping we can all become friends?" Harry asked, raising one eyebrow and sounding skeptical. "I'm not sure if it's really as easy as just throwing a dinner party."

"No," Malfoy agreed, "but it's a place to start, at least. We're not expecting this evening to completely reverse the way people see us, all we're wanting to achieve is a step in the right direction; the beginnings of change. Is that really such a bad thing, Potter? You offered the Dark Lord the opportunity for remorse, but not us?"

The question made Harry pause as he considered it. Despite his initial suspicions of the evening, Malfoy really did seem genuine. "I'm here, Malfoy, aren't I?" he said gruffly, taking a swallow of champagne for a chance to look away from the blond.

"I wasn't sure that you would come," Malfoy admitted, picking up his own glass. "Blaise was certain the three of you would never show. He owes me five Galleons now, so cheers, Potter." He offered Harry a small smile. "You've made me five Galleons richer just by showing up."

Harry surprised the both of them by chuckling. "Yeah, because more money is just what you need, isn't it?" he said, pointedly glancing up at the crystal chandelier sparkling above their heads; Harry still couldn't believe this was someone's home.

Malfoy's smile widened. "You say that like there's a way to answer _no_ and not be a complete imbecile for it."

Shaking his head in amusement, Harry opened his mouth to respond when a loud noise drew his sudden attention. The tinkling sound of glass shattering seemed to ring around the large room, and Harry and Malfoy both turned as one to see Hannah Abbott standing several meters away, eyes wide and terrified, one hand curled into a tight claw and the other clenched around her wand, pointed down at the floor as though she had been about to clean up the broken glass and spilled champagne littering the ground at her feet. A shriek of pain tore its way from her mouth a moment before she fell to her knees amid the razor-sharp shards of glass still spread across the floor. Hermione, Neville, and Susan all rushed immediately toward her as she screamed, sounding as though she was being tortured. What the hell was happening?

Harry and Malfoy both took an automatic step toward her as well before a sharp, ominous sound made the both of them stumble in dread and confusion as the crowd of onlookers around them began to scream in horror, nearly all drowned out by Hannah's wails and wordless sobs of anguish. Hermione reached her side first, dropping down next to her and beginning to cast a volley of spells over Hannah, seeming to grow more and more frantic as Hannah continued to scream. A sudden cracking could be heard, and Harry glanced around, wondering where it was coming from. Was the house falling apart?

"Oh my god," Hermione said in a shocked voice, and Harry tried to hurry to her side, feeling as though he was running through a pool of drying cement. Everything was moving in slow motion; why wouldn't his legs move faster?

"Hannah!" Susan screamed, and Harry wondered when she had appeared on the floor beside Hermione. "Hannah, what's happening?! What's wrong with her?!" She turned to Hermione, tears sliding freely down her face as she helplessly watched her friend collapse to the floor, landing on her back and beginning to splutter, nearly choking on the mouthful of thick blood forcing its way up her throat. She rolled to the side and spat it out as best she could, coughing and struggling to draw breath through wet lungs; Harry could practically hear them filling with blood.

The strange cracking sounded again and Harry's eyes flicked up to the ceiling, wondering if it was about to cave it on them. But a gurgling sound drew his attention back to Hannah, and he gazed down in horror as she began to convulse, uncontrollable spasms jerking her entire body as she struggled to draw in hoarse, agonized breaths through lips stained the color of burnt wine, and Harry heard himself gasp as he finally realized what the odd cracking sound was.

With a loud, piercing scream, Hannah's chest suddenly ruptured wide open, snapping in half from the inside as her ribcage burst outwards, and Harry heard Susan vomit and wretch violently at the sight of Hannah's beating heart, on clear display to the entire room. It was pulsating fiercely in her gaping chest, picking up speed in a desperate attempt to keep her alive as her body continued to jerk and twitch. The sight of her lungs, sitting there for all the world to see, made Harry nearly sick up as well, the sight reminding him horribly of raw meat.

With a final rattling gasp, Hannah's lungs stopped moving, her heart stopped beating, everything seeming to shrivel up before their eyes. The whole thing had happened so quickly, it had been over in _seconds_ , and yet it had felt like an entire century to Harry. What the hell had just happened? What was going on?

"What…" Malfoy tried to speak, mouth hanging open in shock and eyes wide with horror.

There were screams around them, Harry knew that. People were screaming and crying and sobbing and running, and he startled as someone shouted, "I can't Apparate!" and the screams began to grow louder as others started to try.

"You can't Disapparate from inside the wards," Malfoy whispered, sounding blank.

"Ron!" Harry called, scanning for the redhead and hurrying over to him. "We need to get everyone into a different room, NOW! We need to get them away from her body and call the other Aurors!"

"Right," Ron said in a grim voice, turning to the crowd and immediately attempting to herd them from the room. Neville quickly joined his side and Harry turned back to Hermione, who had climbed to her feet and pulled a shaking Susan Bones up with her.

"Parvati!" Hermione called, stopping the dark-skinned girl in her tracks, and she turned terrified eyes onto Hermione. "Take Susan with you into the other room, all right?" Parvati nodded and came forward, wrapping one arm around Susan's shoulders, and Harry could see how desperately she was trying to avoid looking in Hannah's direction.

"Hermione, what the hell just happened?" Harry asked in a low voice, glancing at Hannah again before turning his back on the horrific sight of her mangled corpse, blood still pooling and organs gleaming wetly from between the bones of her ribcage, extending from her body like long blood-stained fingers the color of rusty sand reaching out through her chest, and Harry shuddered at the sight. "What just happened to her? What was that?!"

"I have no idea," Hermione answered, sounding bewildered. "It all happened so quickly. She had been fine; I have no idea!"

"Do you think it was something in her drink?" Harry asked. "Do you think she might have been poisoned?"

Hermione shrugged helplessly. "She didn't respond to any of the healing spells I cast, but I have no idea what it was. It was either a potion or a very powerful curse because whatever it was, it certainly was not natural."

"She's dead," Malfoy said in a blank voice, and Harry turned to him in surprise, wondering what the blond was still doing there. Why had he not left the room with the others? "She's dead."

"Malfoy," Harry said, keeping his voice soft, "you shouldn't be here."

"But…" Malfoy sounded so lost, and Harry had to fight the strange urge to wrap an arm around him in comfort, "but this is my house."

"No," Harry shook his head, moving closer and giving in to the temptation by placing a hand on Malfoy's shoulder and gently starting to lead him from the room, "I meant you shouldn't be _here_ , in this room. Let's get you out of here, yeah?"

Malfoy did not respond or attempt to pull away from the brunet, and Harry tightened his grip, hearing Hermione cast several more murmured spells behind them before trailing after the two men. Harry wondered where the others had gone but heard the sound of panicked voices spilling from an open doorway further along the hall. They entered the room to find everybody wide-eyed and frantic, several of them with specks of Hannah's blood dotting their skin and clothing.

Face blank, Malfoy drifted over to where the Slytherins all stood together, appearing just as frightened as everyone else. Harry couldn't seem to stop staring at Malfoy; no matter where he looked, his gaze continued to drift back to the stunned, silent man.

And no matter how hard he tried, Harry could not get the image of Hannah's convulsing body and gaping chest from his mind, just as he could not stop himself from wondering just what the hell had happened in that room.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is the first chapter down! Lemme know any thoughts, opinions, suspicions, hobbies, fears, secrets, hopes and dreams, life goals, anything you would like to share, really. The second chapter should be up soon!
> 
> p.s. I know that Zacharias was most likely not in Harry's year, 'cos even though it never actually says his year in the books, I'm pretty sure he was meant to be in the year below, buuut I really needed a character like him in this story. Plus, I just enjoy writing douchebags. They're the most fun kind of characters to write. And nobody out-douches Zacharias Smith. He is the King Joffrey of dickheads.
> 
> Double p.s. Just in case any of you were wondering, the title of this story is taken from a poem by my most darling and beloved Miss Emily Dickinson. And if any of you lovelies have read my first mystery, I know you know just how much I treasure and adore that brilliant woman and her brilliant, gloomy brain.
> 
>   
> _All but Death, can be Adjusted—  
>  Dynasties repaired—  
> Systems—settled in their Sockets—  
> Citadels—dissolved—_
> 
> _Wastes of Lives—resown with Colors  
>  By Succeeding Springs—  
> Death—unto itself—Exception—  
> Is exempt from Change—_
> 
> "All but Death, can be Adjusted"—Emily Dickinson


	2. We Shall Be Monsters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _"It is true, we shall be monsters, cut off from all the world; but on that account we shall be more attached to one another."_** —Mary Shelley, _Frankenstein_

"You goddamn bastards!" Smith shouted the moment the Slytherins entered the lounge. "Which one of you did it?! Which one of you killed her?!"

"If it was one of us," Zabini narrowed his eyes, "we must certainly be talented, hmm? Considering we weren't even fucking there last night."

"Like you lot don't know how to do Dark magic from a distance," Smith sneered, and Zabini took a step forward.

"If you really do believe we can kill her from so great a distance, maybe you shouldn't be so quick to anger us from only several meters away," the dark-skinned man said in a low voice, and Smith's eyes flashed in response.

"You all heard him threaten me!" he cried dramatically as he turned to the others, clearly expecting them to back him up.

"Christ, Smith," Michael Corner stepped forward, glaring at the blond, "I'm about ready to threaten you myself. Just shut up for once in your life already. None of them were there and you heard what Granger said about the wards on the room."

"Is this your confession then?" Smith glared right back. "Are you saying it was you who killed Brocklehurst?"

"You know," Ron interrupted loudly, "the more you continue to point fingers at others for no reason, Smith, the guiltier it makes you look."

"Are you seriously saying there's no reason to suspect the Slytherins?" Smith stared at him with incredulous eyes.

"Why the hell did you even come here then?" Parkinson snapped, stepping forward to stand next to Zabini. "Nobody forced you to! None of us even wanted you to!"

"And yet I still got an invitation," Smith shot back.

"And we're all definitely regretting that now," Michael said, sounding disgusted.

"Plenty of people got invitations who didn't show up," Zabini drawled. "You should have been selfless for once in your life and spared us all the misery of your fucking company. I mean, fuck, Smith, how do you honestly spend that much time with yourself? I would have taken my own wand to my head years ago if I had to hear the sound of your annoying fucking voice every time I opened my mouth."

"It's not too late," Smith growled, looking furious, "I can take my wand to your head for you right now."

"I meant what I said last night, Smith," Harry said quietly, stepping forward as well. "I will hex your mouth shut if I need to."

Smith turned his enraged eyes on Harry, opening his mouth to speak before he was cut off by the sound of Michael's voice. "Yeah, Smith, great idea, go ahead and goad Harry Potter. You do realize he's a trained Auror, don't you?"

"Yeah," Dean spoke up, sounding amused, "and you never did answer that question about how your dishwashing job is going. Let's see how that particular skill set faces off against the bloke who brought down You-Know-Who."

"Enough!" Hermione cut in, fixing everybody with a hard look, one that reminded Harry of her days as a prefect. "We are not going to start turning on one another! And, Zacharias," her expression sharpened, "you really do want to start thinking before you speak, especially in regard to the Slytherins. You do realize that until we are able to leave this house, you are entirely dependent on Draco Malfoy for essentials such as food, don't you?"

At her words, Smith's eyes widened, and Harry could tell he had truly not considered such a thing. Harry turned to find Zabini giving the Hufflepuff a smug look.

"So don't make us angry, Smith," he drawled, "because whether we're the killers or not, if you offend us, you either get murdered or you starve. Either way, you're not setting yourself up to win."

Harry looked to Malfoy, noting that blond was not saying a thing. The others continued to talk, all interrupting one another and cutting everybody else off, and Harry moved closer to Ron, tugging on his sleeve and gesturing toward the far wall. The two men crossed the room to speak in private, Harry keeping his voice low to not be overheard.

"The other Aurors should have been here by now," he said, glancing back at the crowd. "We should have had some sort of signal that they're here. But everything's been so quiet."

"Maybe they're still trying to break through the wards," Ron suggested uneasily. "Who knows how long that will take?"

"Malfoy," Harry called as softly as he could, nodding when the blond glanced over. He gestured for him to join the two Aurors, and confusion flashed across the man's face as he crossed the room to stand beside them. "Malfoy, can you tell if anyone has tried to get through the wards from the outside?"

"Yes, of course I can," he nodded. "But nobody has yet."

"Nobody?" Ron's voice was sharp. "Are you sure?"

The look Malfoy gave him spoke volumes. "Quite sure, Weasley, yes, considering I am the only one tuned in to them," he said dryly.

"Fuck," Harry swore. "Okay, then maybe Robards didn't get my Patronus last night. We'll both send one this time. And Hermione too. Your wards wouldn't prevent those being sent, would they?" He turned to Malfoy, watching the man's nose scrunch up in thought.

"I wouldn't think so, but it is possible, I suppose," he shrugged. "I've never actually seen one sent from inside the house, though, so I couldn't answer with complete certainty, but I doubt the wards would prevent such a thing. I've never had cause to wonder such a question before."

Ron suddenly grinned unexpectedly. "You can't cast a Patronus, can you, Malfoy?"

At the question, the blond grit his teeth. "What an astoundingly appropriate time for mockery, Weasley. Merlin, you certainly do know how to pick the best moments to be an arse, don't you? Your parents must be very proud of your extreme level of intelligence and tact."

Ron shrugged. "'Bout as appropriate a time for mockery as it is for sarcasm, yeah?"

"What's the situation on food, Malfoy?" Harry asked before the blond could reply to Ron; he did not want to be present for some ridiculous hair-pulling bickering between the two.

"It's fine for now," Malfoy answered, turning to Harry and pointedly ignoring Ron. "The kitchen was stocked right before the party, actually."

"What about house-elves?" Ron said suddenly, sounding excited. "They can Apparate through a lot of wards that wizards can't! They can go for help! They can—"

"No," Malfoy interrupted. "They can't."

"Yes they can," Ron frowned, "Dobby Apparated us out of here once before."

At the reminder of Dobby's death, Harry turned away, unwilling to allow his mind to stray down such a dark path at a time such as that; things were already bad enough without dwelling on the awful, painful past.

"Yes, he did," Malfoy agreed, giving Harry an odd, careful look, "but such a thing would not work again, considering I don't actually own any house-elves."

"What?" Ron sounded gobsmacked. "What do you mean you don't have house-elves? You have to have house-elves! I mean, fuck, look at your house! You used to have house-elves!"

"Yes," Malfoy said dryly, "emphasis on _used to_. All of them were killed during the war. Not a single one survived."

"Oh," Ron said in a subdued voice. "Right. Well, that plan won't work then. But who cooked the dinner last night?"

"I hired a company," said Malfoy, staring into the distance. "They prepared the food and set everything up and left before any of the guests arrived. There hasn't been a single house-elf on this property in nearly two years."

"What about owls?" Harry asked.

Malfoy sighed. "Yes, owls I have, but unfortunately, they're all kept on a different part of the estate in a building separate from this one. And I'm not sure how many of you tried the doors or windows last night, but we're completely trapped in the main house."

"Fuck," Ron swore, reaching up to rub his temples. "So, we can't use the Floo, we can't use an owl, we can't use the doors, we can't Apparate, and we can't send a Patronus. I have to say, Malfoy, this is the worst party I've ever been to."

Malfoy's mouth tightened as he dropped his gaze, crossing his arms over his chest in a defensive move as though expecting to be attacked. "Trust me, Weasley," he muttered, "it hasn't exactly gone how I pictured it, either."

"I'm sorry, Malfoy," Harry said softly, not liking the way Malfoy seemed to hunch in on himself at the reminder that it had been him who had originally brought everyone into an environment that was quickly unfolding into a nightmare. "I know this is the exact opposite of what you wanted to achieve with this party."

Malfoy's head snapped up, gazing at Harry with wide eyes, and Harry was surprised to find that they were actually a pretty color, as far as eyes went. Harry had never really paid attention to a person's eye color before, despite how often strangers seemed to praise his own eye color. But Malfoy's eyes were the color of silver-tipped clouds at dawn, and Harry thought that was a much prettier color than his own plain green.

"Fuck, he's arguing with Hermione again," Ron sighed, sounding frustrated as he glanced past Malfoy, and Harry wondered how Ron was not also struck by the man's eye color. Had he not noticed? "I'll be back after I punch Smith in the face." He strode away, leaving Harry and Malfoy in a strange silence; Harry had no idea what to say.

"Do you really not think I'm the one responsible then?" Malfoy asked quietly, head tilted as he considered Harry.

"No," answered Harry honestly, "I know you're not. I don't believe it's any of you lot."

Malfoy's gaze intensified. "Why not?" he finally asked, studying Harry as though the brunet had been transfigured into an open textbook. "I'm not surprised that we would be everybody else's first suspects. So why don't you agree with them?"

Feeling uncomfortable from the scorching gaze still stabbing into him, Harry shrugged. "I dunno, I just…don't. I'm not saying it's because I suddenly trust the lot of you, but…I dunno. I saw your face last night when it happened, and I honestly don't believe you could have done something like that. I know you're not a killer, Malfoy, even when you had to be, let alone for some sort of sick sport."

Malfoy looked stunned; he looked shocked; he looked…Harry couldn't even think of a word strong enough to describe the other man's astonishment. He stared at Harry for nearly a full minute in absolute silence before opening his mouth to speak. "Well," he said weakly, "thank god there's at least one person left in this world who has not yet condemned me to hell."

Harry grinned, hoping to somehow lighten the tense atmosphere between them. "I don't think I ever said _that_ , Malfoy."

Malfoy shook his head, grinning reluctantly. "I suppose my scores back down to zero then."

"Eh, think of this way," Harry's grin widened, "the three of us showed up, so you're still five Galleons richer than you were yesterday."

Harry had meant the words to be taken lightly, but at his comment, Malfoy's face fell, appearing closed off once more. "Yes," he muttered, "who needs to be liked when one has money, right?"

Harry frowned, shifting closer on instinct; he had not meant to upset the man. "Malfoy—"

"I better get back over there," Malfoy cut him off, turning back to eye the other Slytherins, "before Blaise decides to rip out Smith's tongue with his bare hands." Without waiting for a response, he turned and strode away from the brunet, leaving Harry feeling sad for some reason.

***

"We're all going to starve to death, aren't we?" Ron asked with a shake of his head as they trailed after Malfoy and the other Slytherins.

"Of course not, Ron," Hermione frowned. "Malfoy said that his kitchen is well stocked and I believe him."

"That's not the part I'm worried about," the redhead said. "No offense, Hermione, but I've tasted your cooking before."

"Yes, if only your mother could have been there to feed you instead," Hermione responded wryly, and Harry chuckled.

"Yeah, exactly my point!" Ron snapped his fingers. "I don't cook, you don't cook, Harry doesn't cook—"

"Excuse me, I can cook!" Harry cut in, feeling offended. "I'm a bloody decent cook!"

"Are you?" Ron sounded surprised—insultingly surprised. "I've never seen you cook! You practically live off takeaways!"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Well, that's because I don't _like_ to cook." He hoped that Ron would not ask why—years of cooking for the Dursleys had left him with decent cookery skills, but it was not something he enjoyed doing now that he wasn't constantly being ordered to.

"I never knew that about you," Ron shrugged, still sounding surprised. "Well, we learn new things every day, don't we?"

"It's not like we'll have to cook every single meal," Hermione said. "We're going to take it in shifts until we can figure out a way out of here. For now, I think we should keep it simple. I'm not sure how much people are really going to want to eat after what happened earlier this morning."

"Here it is," Malfoy announced, coming to a stop outside a plain-looking chestnut door. He twisted the bronze handle and pushed open the door to reveal the kitchen, and the three Gryffindors stepped inside, staring around in interest. It was a high-ceilinged room with several windows cut into the beige walls, showing a view of the flint-colored skies above. A long, scrubbed oak table stood near a black iron stove, possibly the largest stove Harry had ever seen. Two tall cabinets stood on either side of the stove, loaded with delicate, fancy-looking dishware and gleaming copper pots. A large wooden knife rack sat perched on one of the cabinet shelves, holding an array of sharp, lethal-looking knives.

At the sight of the knives, Harry turned to Hermione. "Should we really be giving everyone access to those?" he asked in a low voice, nodding toward the knife rack. "We still don't know who to trust or who to even suspect."

She eyed the knives in silence for several long seconds. "I don't see what they could do with a knife that they couldn't also do with their wands. Perhaps we'll simply have to keep strict track of the number of knives there are and count them before and after every meal shift. And besides," she gestured toward the wall at the head of the table, where a long row of black pans hung, "you can just as easily kill someone with one of those frying pans as you can with a knife."

"So, you're saying kitchens are basically murder traps?" Ron asked, drifting forward to peer inside a drawer of the cabinet; by the metallic clinking, Harry guessed it to be a silverware drawer.

"No, Ronald," Hermione sighed, "that's not what I'm saying at all. Kitchen tools are not the only things that can be turned into weapons; most objects have that capability."

"Yeah, Weasley," Zabini cut in, turning to the Gryffindors with a smirk, "she's saying that _people_ are murder traps, not the room they happen to be in at the time."

"Let's just get this over with," Parkinson said, shooting the stove a dirty look. "God, I hate cooking. All that measuring and chopping reminds me of Potions. And you all remember how much I hated that class."

"You too, eh?" Ron grinned. "I thought it was only the three of us."

"I didn't hate the _class_ ," Hermione objected.

"Just the dickhead teacher," Ron finished for her. "Can't blame you there, he was definitely the most bastardy professor in the school."

"Don't," Harry and Malfoy both said simultaneously, and everyone turned to them in surprise. Malfoy shot Harry a complicated look before crossing the room to a large wooden icebox and beginning to pull food out.

"I assume everyone is fine with making a simple fry-up," he called over his shoulder, emerging with several tomatoes and a tin of pale mushrooms.

"Didn't know you'd ever eaten a fry-up in your life," Ron said casually, leaning back against a cabinet as he watched Malfoy continue to pile ingredients on the table.

"Normally not, but we seem to be out of pheasant," Malfoy deadpanned. "And it looks like we're short on swan as well, so I suppose I'll have to make do with a fry-up." Ron snorted loudly and Malfoy shook his head. "Did you not hear me when I said that there hasn't been a house-elf in the Manor for nearly two years? How do you think I ate, Weasley?"

"You're saying you can cook?" Ron raised both eyebrows at that. " _You_ can _cook?"_

"Yes, I can fucking cook," Malfoy snapped. "And since you seem to be the most useless in a kitchen out of everyone here, you can be the one to wash the vegetables. Blaise, you and Pansy cut everything up. Granger will measure and proportion everything correctly. Potter and I will do the actual cooking, seeing as how we're the only ones capable of actually succeeding in creating anything edible. Tracey and Theo will get all the appropriate dishes and silverware out and help dish the food when it's ready."

His words were met with silence. "I meant now," he said with a roll of his eyes, crossing the room to fetch two large frying pans down from the wall, handing one to Harry. Everyone began to move into their assigned roles, and Malfoy moved closer to speak to Harry. "Now, Potter, I mostly cook with magic, but I'm assuming you'll want Muggle utensils to cook with, yes?"

"You have Muggle utensils?" Harry asked in shock.

Malfoy rolled his eyes again. "Muggle cookery utensils are not strictly Muggle, you know. I only refer to them as such because they don't have the option of cooking with magic. I, however, find it easier. But since you have the choice, which do you prefer?"

"Er, the utensils," said Harry, still feeling surprised. Malfoy gestured to a drawer on the far left of the long table, and Harry pulled everything he felt he would need from it, turning to find that Malfoy had procured a slim bottle of amber oil and had drizzled the bottoms of both pans with the liquid.

 _Cooking with Draco Malfoy_ , Harry thought to himself, unsure what to make of the situation, _who the hell would ever have predicted this?_

***

"So what does that mean?" Dean frowned, crossing his arms as he stared between Harry, Ron, and Hermione. They had all finished eating several minutes ago and the group was still sat in the informal dining room, the larger formal dining room sealed off now that it held the dead body of one of their classmates.

"It means," Hermione sighed, "that we're not sure how long we'll be here."

"You said one night!" Goldstein said loudly, shooting dark looks around the room they were sat in. "We did one night and someone died for it! I can't do another one in this house! You said _one!"_

"Yes," Hermione said, and Harry could hear her trying her hardest to remain patient, "but that was before we were fully aware of the situation. We have no way of contacting anybody from the outside world. Harry, Ron, and I have all tried to send out a Patronus, but they don't seem to be making it to the Auror department."

"So we're stuck here forever?" Seamus demanded, exchanging a look with Dean.

"No, not forever," she responded, glancing around at everyone. "Sooner or later they're going to start noticing that we're all missing and when they do, someone will trace at least one of us to Malfoy Manor."

"Yeah, Seamus," Parvati said with a shaky smile, "someone's bound to notice when Harry doesn't show up at work. He's going to be the first of us to be reported missing, and someone will definitely come for him. The entire Auror department will come for him."

Harry frowned and dragged a hand through his hair. "I didn't actually tell anybody I was coming here, though. And we all had to bring the invitations along to get through the Manor wards, so I don't know what they could actually trace anyone here with. Not to mention that the wards on my flat are pretty damn thick, so it might take them some time to even get inside if I'm the one they're going to be focusing on."

"Oh," she said quietly, shaky smile vanishing.

"But there are a lot of us here," he continued, regretting his earlier words, "so the department will know that something is up when we all get reported missing at the same time."

"Yeah, Parvati," Dean said with a gentle grin, "the wards on mine and Seamus's flat are rubbish, so if either of us gets reported missing, they'll definitely be able to get inside. And I wrote down the date of the party on our calendar, which they'll definitely find. Along with Seamus's porn collection."

Ron snorted. "See?" he said, gesturing toward the dark-skinned man. "We'll get out of here in no time thanks to Dean's shoddy wards. So thanks, Dean, for being an unparanoid trusting bastard."

"Selflessness is why I was put in Gryffindor," he replied with another grin.

"Anyway," Hermione said loudly, glancing between the two men with an air of exasperation, "I think the main thing here is to work out certain details. I think we should come up with a schedule for meal shifts; I've already taken inventory of everything in the kitchen that could be used for a weapon, which will be checked before and after every shift. I also think it would be a good idea to establish a partner system. Everybody picks one person to be responsible for, and they, in turn, are responsible for you. We don't go anywhere without our partners; I do not want a single person wandering around on their own."

Seamus and Dean both turned to one another at the same time, saying "Partner?" and laughing. Harry saw Padma and Parvati immediately clutch at one another, as did Ron and Hermione, and the sight made Harry feel lonely.

Glancing over at the Slytherins, he was surprised to see Zabini and Parkinson standing together, holding hands. Harry would have assumed that one of them would have paired themselves with Malfoy; was he not still dating Parkinson? But no, the way she was gazing at Zabini, as though she trusted him with her life, made Harry begin to suspect that no, perhaps she was not involved with Draco Malfoy any longer.

Malfoy shot them an unhappy glance, and Harry understood the feeling all too well. It didn't feel too great being the one left out. He noticed that Davis and Nott appeared to have paired themselves together as well, and Harry took a breath before striding over to Malfoy, wondering why he was feeling so nervous about approaching the other man.

"Hey," he said quietly, and Malfoy turned to him in surprise. "Er, it looks like we both got left out a bit by our friends. You wanna pair up?"

The surprise on Malfoy's face grew more pronounced. "You—you really want to be paired up with me?"

"Stranger things have happened, haven't they?" Harry shrugged, aiming for casual and missing the mark by several miles. "And I know you're not the killer, so…"

Malfoy's gaze was nearly intense enough to scorch; it reminded Harry of the heat from the large stove in the kitchen earlier, hot enough to sear the flesh from his bones if he got too close.

"All right, Potter," he said in a soft voice, continuing to study Harry's face. "I suppose I'm willing to accept responsibility for someone as brash as yourself."

A grin slid across Harry's face before he even had time to register his amusement. "And I'm willing to accept responsibility for someone as pretentious as _your_ self."

Malfoy grinned back. "God, we really are selfless people, aren't we?"

Harry chuckled. "Not as selfless as whoever gets paired with Smith."

At that, Malfoy laughed, and Harry felt oddly pleased with himself at the sound.

"All right," Hermione called, and the two men turned their attention onto her, "is everybody paired up then?" Murmurs of agreement were heard around the room. "Okay, I'm going to write all the partnerships down so we're all aware of who is responsible for whom." From somewhere in her robes she pulled a small notebook and a Muggle biro free, flipping open to a blank page and beginning to walk around the room writing names down.

"Any idea so far who's behind this?" Malfoy murmured after Hermione had written their names down with only a single strange look between the two men.

The question made Harry sigh. "Honestly? No idea. I really can't see anyone in this room being a murderer."

"And yet…" Malfoy trailed off, and Harry sighed again.

"And yet," he agreed.

"Okay," Hermione said, walking back to the center of the room. "I have everyone written down. I'll read the names off so we all know who's partnered together. The pairs are Ron and me, Padma and Parvati, Seamus and Dean, Lisa and Susan, Michael and Anthony, Tracey and Theodore, Blaise and Pansy, Stephen and Terry, Justin and Neville, Zacharias and Kevin,"—Harry noticed that Kevin did not look particularly pleased by this—"and Harry and Draco." There was more than one gasp of shock at the final two names, making Harry want to roll his eyes. How much of a surprise could it really have been? They were the very last names to be mentioned, of course they were paired together. "So, now that we have partners, we don't go anywhere without them, agreed?" More murmurs of agreement sounded, and Hermione appeared satisfied.

Malfoy cleared his throat and everyone turned to him with narrowed, wary eyes as he stepped forward to speak. "There are several baths and showers throughout the house, if anyone would care to freshen up." More than one expression shifted into surprise at the offer, but Harry noticed even more morph into blatant suspicion, and he wanted to snap at them all. Malfoy was feeding them and allowing them the comfort of cleaning up, and they were still searching for ulterior motives behind his every word. "All of the bathrooms have gas lamps on either side of the doors so you can always tell which rooms they are."

"Thank you, Draco," Hermione said, nodding to the blond, and Harry was not the only one to look at her in surprise. A moment later, however, and he thought he might just understand. By referring to everyone by their given name instead of their surnames, Harry thought she might be trying to erase the distance between them that last names gave. She was most likely trying to establish the basis for trust in the simplest way she knew how, although Harry knew that trusting another person was not as easy as calling them by their first name. "Okay," she continued, "I want everyone on the first half of the list who did not help cook the food to take the dishes down to the kitchen and wash everything. We'll rotate separate cleaning and cooking shifts. The rest of you can go wash up first and then the second group can wash up after the kitchen and the dishes are clean."

As she began to divide the remaining people into two groups, one to clear everything away and one to wash up, Harry caught Ron's attention and jerked his head. Ron wandered over, keeping one eye on the group near Hermione to make sure everybody was following her directions.

"I think we should go check out where Mandy was killed," Harry said in a low voice. "Look for any sort of clues we can find, any spell residue, sign of a struggle, _anything_. I want to know how she was taken from her bed and killed all the way on the other side of the dining room without anybody hearing anything."

"Right," Ron nodded. "We're gonna need Hermione for most of that then. God, this is gonna be tricky without the other Aurors. We're not usually the ones who deal with those sorts of in-depth details about a case, are we?"

"What, they don't train Aurors to know how to check for those sorts of things?" Malfoy asked in surprise, and Harry glanced over, not even realizing that he had followed the two Gryffindors.

"No, they do," Harry shrugged. "They give all Aurors an overall level of training, but there are different subdivisions within the Auror department who focus on different areas, and you're given much more in-depth training for whatever subdivision you're placed in. Ron and I are much more field agents than anything. We're certainly not trained in forensics."

"Yeah," Ron wrinkled his nose. "I hardly even know where the lab _is_ , let alone any of the work that goes into what they do there."

"Well," Malfoy frowned, "it's a good thing we have Granger here, then, isn't it?"

"Definitely a good thing," Ron agreed, turning to watch as Hermione finished separating everyone into two groups.

"We all need to work together while we're here," Hermione said, glancing at every single person in the room in turn. "I know that not all of us are close and have not all gotten along in the past, but we're all stuck in the same situation now and the only way we'll be able to get through this is as a group. If we allow our fear to get the better of us, I doubt a single one of us will make it out of here unscathed. We cannot allow fear to control us or allow paranoia to win, because all those two things will do is drive every one of us apart and make us easier targets. So there will be no fighting whilst we're here, does everybody understand?" She pinned everybody into place with a hard look, refusing to let up or speak until everyone had murmured an affirmation. "Good. Everybody sticks with their partners then."

Turning her back on the group, she walked over to where the three men stood together. "We need to go look at Mandy's body," she said without preamble, and the three men nodded.

"Yes, Potter here was just saying the same thing," Malfoy said.

"Let's go now then," Hermione sighed, "while everybody else is busy doing something. I don't want them following out of morbid curiosity or in a misguided attempt at helping. I think the details should be kept between the three of us. Oh," she continued as Malfoy opened his mouth, "and you as well, I suppose, Draco, seeing as you're Harry's partner and are now responsible for looking out for him."

Malfoy gave her a strange look but nodded, gesturing for her to lead the way.

***

Mandy was even worse than Harry remembered, and he was glad that he had hardly touched any of the food he had helped prepare. Her skin had noticeably paled, her limbs looking stiff and cold to the touch, and Harry could see the bottoms of Mandy's hands and arms beginning to purple as gravity pulled all the blood left in her body in the direction of the earth.

"Based on her body's current temperature versus the current temperature of the room, as well as the stage of rigor mortis her body is in at the moment," Hermione said, momentarily lit up by the blue flash from her wand as she continued casting diagnostic spells, "I would guess she's been dead around six hours, maybe seven."

At her conclusion, Harry shuddered. "You're saying that we were all asleep with the body of a dead girl within plain sight for over _three hours_ and none of us noticed a thing?"

"Yes," Hermione said, brow furrowed. "And there are definite traces of magic on her, so this was definitely a spell. I just can't tell which one."

"Does it matter?" Malfoy asked, gazing down at Mandy with a sickened expression.

"Yes," Hermione responded. "If this was a simple severing charm or a standard slicing spell, then everyone is still a suspect because everybody here knows the spells and are capable of casting them. But if it was a more powerful, lesser-known spell, it would help remove some of those names from the list."

"Right," Malfoy said, turning away from the sight.

"Were any of her organs damaged, Hermione?" Harry wondered, leaning in. "Or was it just the skin?"

"It doesn't look like any of the organs were lacerated," Hermione said thoughtfully, bending down to peer closer. "So based on that, I would say this would most likely be a severing charm as opposed to a stronger curse, albeit a rather strong severing charm."

Harry hummed, looking down at the mound of organs bulging from the gaping cavity in Mandy's abdomen. Intestines were strung across her lap and hanging from the open wound in thick slimy ropes, all varying shades of pale and dark, reminding Harry of the color and texture of flobberworms. The intestines were discolored in places and looked wet to the touch, making Harry want to recoil at the same time he could not turn away from the sight. He could see the glistening, rounded lower half of an organ that he assumed to be her stomach dangling just above the grotesque mess spilling from her body.

"So," Hermione continued, rising to her feet; Harry copied her and stood as well. "Out of everyone who was in that room last night, I know that it was not any of the three of us who killed her. That leaves us with Seamus, Dean, Parvati, Padma, Susan, Lisa, Stephen, Zacharias, Terry, Michael, Anthony, Kevin, Justin, and Neville."

"You don't actually think Neville did it, do you?" Harry asked skeptically.

"No, of course not," Hermione sighed. "But I would say the same thing about the rest of the list as well."

"Justin was talking to Hannah only a few minutes before she died," Harry said, thinking back to the previous night. "And both Michael and Anthony were standing next to her."

"Smith was standing pretty close to her as well," Malfoy pointed out.

"There's no other way inside this room other than these three entrances, right, Draco?" Hermione turned to him, gesturing around the room. He shook his head. "I warded all of them pretty heavily last night. So for now, I think we can ignore what everyone else is saying about the Slytherins and focus on the ones who were inside this room last night when it was warded shut."

"Okay," Malfoy said, and Harry heard relief in his voice. "Thank you. For giving us the benefit of the doubt."

Hermione gave him a wry half-smile. "I really don't believe you would have tricked us all here to kill us off one-at-a-time whilst also locking yourselves inside the house with us."

"Well, I'm glad we invited at least one person able to keep their cool in a situation such as this and think everything through rationally," he said, and Hermione's half-smile twitched wider at the compliment.

"Hey," Harry protested, "I haven't accused any of you lot either!"

"No," Malfoy said in an odd tone, turning to give Harry a strange look, "you haven't, Potter."

"Is there anything else you can tell from her body, Hermione?" Harry turned back to Mandy's corpse, feeling oddly flushed from the gaze Malfoy was still leveling him with.

"I honestly don't know," she said grimly, turning to face Mandy as well. "I am certainly no forensic, so I only have a basic idea of what to check for. But as far as I can tell from my rudimentary examination, I can guess that she died sometime between three and four a.m. There are traces of a spell in the air around her, which I'm guessing to be a silencing charm, which would explain why none of us heard her die. The beds were Transfigured, so there's no point checking the area around the one she slept in for traces of any spells used since it will show positive signs of magic due to the Transfiguration spells. And there's no point in checking for traces of foreign magic on either her or the bed since I never received the training to track or even read a magical signature." She sounded frustrated with herself, as though she should always have every single answer for every question. Ron came up behind her, placing both hands on her shoulders in comfort.

"I checked the other doors like you wanted, Hermione," he said quietly, glancing back the way he had just come from, "and the wards are all still there. You said you only took down the one ward, right? To let us out of the room after we found her?"

She nodded, gaze drifting between Mandy's body and the exits.

"Well, the other two doors are still warded," Ron finished, frowning.

"And the one I unwarded this morning was very much still warded before I took it down," she said softly. "It really was someone in this room then that did it."

Harry swore. "But _why?_ Why would someone do that? And to Hannah and Mandy? Did they even have any enemies? Ever, at all, for any reason? I don't think I ever even heard Mandy speak before the party last night! And Hannah's got to be the nicest person I've ever met! This doesn't make any sense!"

"Maybe it had nothing to do with them," Malfoy said, voice quiet. "Maybe they were chosen randomly, or maybe they were specifically picked because of all those reasons you just listed—maybe whoever did it was simply aiming for the highest shock value. Maybe that's why someone like Smith wasn't killed last night. Because unless he's the guilty one, I don't think there's a single person here whom he has not upset or offended at least once in the past. But those two girls never upset anyone, and nobody would have expected them to be the first to die, would they?"

"So you're saying you expect another person to die?" Ron raised an eyebrow.

"I'm saying we'll then know for a fact that this is about us as a group and not them as individuals," Malfoy said dryly. "Two is coincidence, but three makes a pattern."

"You're right," Hermione agreed. "I agree that this is going to happen again, and probably sooner rather than later. I—"

But before she could finish her statement, she was cut off by the sound of screaming, high-pitched and hysterical and growing louder.

"Oh, god," Harry whispered, and without another word, all four of them turned and sprinted from the room.

**TBC**


	3. No Event But Sorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _"But we who live in prison, and in whose lives there is no event but sorrow, have to measure time by throbs of pain, and the record of bitter moments. We have nothing else to think of. Suffering ― curious as it may sound to you ― is the means by which we exist, because it is the only means by which we become conscious of existing; and the remembrance of suffering in the past is necessary to us as the warrant, the evidence, of our continued identity."_** —Oscar Wilde

"Where's it coming from?" Harry shouted as they ran down the corridor in the direction of the screams. The blood was thundering in his ears and his heart was hammering in his chest and everything around him appeared unnaturally sharp and in focus.

"Draco!" a voice suddenly called, and everyone turned to find Theodore Nott standing in an open doorway, panting. "It—it's Tracey! She—she—"

"Take us," Malfoy ordered, and without another word, Nott turned and hurried off, the others following close behind.

"Oh, god," Harry gasped, realizing where they were going the moment they reached a familiar set of steep steps leading down a familiar darkened stairwell. "She's in the cellar."

He and Ron both exchanged a weighted glance, and Harry saw Ron take a deep breath before he started down the steps after Hermione. Creeping fingers of panic and fear were beginning to slither a path through Harry's veins, making him feel cold and alone, as though his insides had somehow turned to thick fog and he had become lost within the obscure darkness of himself. The room was filling with fog, and he couldn't seem to find anyone else. Where had everyone gone?

Reminding himself that he was not alone and that everything horrible that had happened in the cellar of the house they were in had happened years ago, Harry took a deep breath and threw himself down the stairs after the others, careful not to trip and tumble down the steep steps. He reached the bottom to find everyone halted in place, wands lit as they gazed around the room.

"Where is she?" Harry demanded, raising his wand higher.

Nott pointed to a corner of the pitch-black room, and Harry wandered over slowly, unsure of what exactly he was about to stumble across and preparing himself for the worst. Suddenly, a blinding ball of light was floating up near the ceiling, illuminating the entire room, and Harry cast a quiet _Nox_ on his own wand, assuming it was Hermione who had cast the brighter light spell. He saw Tracey huddled near the walls as he continued approaching, but he could not see any blood. What had happened?

Without warning, her head snapped around at the sound of his footsteps and he halted uncertainly. Her face was tear-streaked and eyes wide and horrified, but she was still alive and Harry was confused. If she hadn't been the one killed, then what had happened to make her scream like that?

"What happened, Nott?" Ron asked, sounding as confused as Harry felt. "I thought you said she had been attacked?"

"No," Nott answered in a low voice. "We were down here, and—"

"What were you doing down here?" Malfoy asked sharply, looking between Davis and Nott before shooting Harry an odd glance.

"We were looking for wine," Nott admitted, sounding unapologetic. "But I forgot how fucking huge your cellar is, so Tracey and I split up to look for it. And she…"

"What happened?" Hermione asked, and at the question, Tracey jumped to her feet and flung herself into Nott's arms, who looked a bit surprised but hugged her back.

"In there," he said in a quiet voice, tightening his hold on Davis as he gestured with his chin further down a narrow adjoining hallway from the main room they were in.

Wands out, Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way down the hallway and into a low-ceilinged stone room, flickering shadows dancing across the walls from the small orb of white light floating above Hermione's head. Dozens of oak casks of what Harry assumed to hold wine were stacked against the walls, directly behind what Harry could only describe as a blood-soaked pile of corpses.

"Oh my fucking hell," Ron breathed, falling back a step at the sight.

Relighting his wand, Harry bent down low to see if any of the faces were familiar, peering closely at the maimed pile. At the bottom of the stack was a man lying face-down in a small pool of dried blood, and Harry could see an arm sticking out of the pile that was stained with so much blood he could honestly not even tell the color of the skin. A woman was lying on her back near the top of the pile, arms flung out and fingers nearly touching the floor. Her eyes were half-open and glassy as they stared up at the three of them; the skin of her face had purpled from the way her head hung down, onyx hair falling like a sheet toward the ground, tips brushing the stone floor of the cellar. Her fingertips had reddened and bruised from the pull of blood through her body after her death, and Harry had trouble removing his eyes from the sight. A man lay beneath her, head pillowed on the thigh of another, and Harry could guess from his mangled, scarlet-soaked neck that his throat had been slit messily. Another man was lying in the middle of the stack face-down, a large open wound on the side of his head, temple crusted with dried blood the color of crimson-tinged clay. His mouth was hanging slightly open, and Harry could see the sight of broken teeth and bloodied gums nearly hidden behind indigo lips. A woman lying beneath him had a dark bruise covering an entire cheekbone, one side of her face looking oddly flat and misshapen, as though she had been struck with something hard.

Making a quick circle around the pile, Harry did not recognize any of the faces he could see. And from what he could see of the corpses, they all appeared to be significantly older than the three Gryffindors, all appearing to be at least one, even two or three decades older than everyone else who had been killed. Who the hell were these people?

A loud gasp from behind had Harry whirling around to find Malfoy standing in the doorway gazing at the pile in horror, and Harry watched as he stumbled back out into the narrow hallway, hitting the nearest wall and sinking to the floor.

"Do you know who they are?" Hermione asked quietly, looking down at Malfoy.

Slowly, still appearing horrified, Malfoy nodded.

"Who are they?" she prodded in a gentle voice.

"They—they were here last night," he breathed, and Harry wondered if the man might sick up right there. "They were the ones I told you about, the company I had hired to prepare the food. I thought they had all left…they were supposed to stay and clean everything up after the party, but I didn't see them again after everything had been set up and had assumed that they had simply left and would be back in a few hours to clean everything then. But…"

"Is there a reason they're all down in the cellar?" Ron wondered, glancing at the bodies in open disgust. "I mean, was there a reason they would have been down here? Or were they moved down here after they were killed?"

"Maybe they were brought down here to be killed," Harry said quietly.

"But who would have known they were here?" Hermione mused, glancing at the corpses. "Were they killed on purpose, or had they perhaps witnessed something somebody didn't want them to see?"

"Malfoy, how long was the window between when they finished setting up and when the first guests started to arrive?" Harry asked, kneeling down to look him in the eye.

Malfoy stared at him blankly, and Harry reached out to place a careful hand on his shin, hoping his touch would snap the man out of his shock. The moment his hand touched Malfoy, the blond sucked in a sharp breath and seemed to shake himself from his daze. "A few minutes," he whispered, "not very long at all. They set up the dinner and while we were eating, they were meant to move to the ballroom and set up the drinks in there, which they did. But since I was at the dinner and then moved to the ballroom with everybody else, I never saw them again and had thought them to have relocated to the kitchen to wait out the party. But when they never resurfaced after our initial panic, I assumed that they had simply left last night and had not been able to get back in once the house had trapped us."

"How could this many people be murdered in a house full of people and none of us heard a damn thing?" Ron asked, turning his back on the bodies.

"You mean like how Mandy was killed in a room full of people and none of us heard that either?" Harry pointed out, and Ron sighed.

"Yeah, just like that."

"Was there anyone missing from dinner last night?" Hermione said in a sharp voice. "Or anyone who arrived late?"

"Cornfoot," Malfoy shrugged. "He only arrived right as dinner was ending."

"Stephen?" Hermione mused, appearing to think the name over.

"Finch-Fletchley!" Malfoy said suddenly, head snapping up. "He didn't show up until after dinner was over and we had already moved to the ballroom!"

At that, Hermione appeared interested. "And who was the first to arrive?"

"Well, the other four Slytherins, of course," Malfoy said, dropping his gaze back down to the floor. "Blaise and Pansy were both here for most of the day, and Tracey and Theo showed up a few hours before everyone else arrived."

"Did they show up together?" Hermione pressed, pulling out her notebook and beginning to jot notes down on a blank page.

"No," Malfoy shook his head. "Separate."

"Okay, and then who?"

"I think it was Corner and Goldstein next, and then the Patils, maybe? I'm not sure if they arrived before or after Thomas and Finnigan, it was all within a few minutes of each other. And then it was the three of you. After that, I have no idea of the order."

"All right," Hermione nodded, tucking her notebook away and turning back to the corpses with a heavy sigh. "Well, I already checked, and there are definitely magical traces still lingering on the bodies, but that doesn't tell us if they were killed with magic or moved here with magic. I wish I could tell which, because there are a few people here whom I know would not think to kill using Muggle means."

"Unless they would because they know they wouldn't be suspected for it," Ron said with a shrug. "Maybe they were trying to kill them in a way that would never be associated with them."

"Good point," Hermione conceded, and Ron looked pleased with himself for a moment before glancing back at the bodies and frowning.

"Can you identify the bodies, Malfoy?" Ron asked, still frowning at the pile of corpses.

Malfoy looked up at him with a lost expression on his face. "Identify them?"

"Yes," Hermione said softly. "How many caterers were here last night?"

Malfoy thought for a moment. "There were six of them. Compared to what their company normally does, this was a relatively small party, so not many people were required for the preparations."

As he spoke, Harry pulled his hand away and rose to his feet, staring at the corpses as he wondered if anyone would be missing. What would it mean if all the caterers were there in that pile?

Hermione nodded. "And there are six corpses here. Do you remember what they all looked like?"

Malfoy nodded. "I was careful when I hired this company. I don't like strangers coming in and out of my home."

Without any prompting, Malfoy pushed himself to his feet, taking a deep breath before stepping closer to the pile of bodies. He circled it slowly, bending close to peer at each face, even pulling out his wand to levitate the bodies stacked on top in order to see the ones on the bottom more clearly.

"This is them," he finally said in a low voice. "All six of them are here." As he spoke, he backed out of the room, falling back against the same wall he had been leaning against earlier. Harry placed one hand on his shoulder in comfort, somewhat surprised when Malfoy did not shake it off.

"Great," Ron sighed. "I was hoping one of them would be missing and the mystery of the killer would be solved, but I forgot the universe apparently hates us all and wants us to suffer."

"So now we have fewer answers and only more questions?" Harry raised one eyebrow at Hermione, not moving his hand from Malfoy's shoulder.

"It appears that way," she sighed. "I think we just need more time to think it all over and space with which to do that. For now, I think we should get out of here and check on Tracey."

Nodding, Ron followed her from the room, leaving Harry and Malfoy alone near a pile of blood-soaked bodies.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked softly, noticing that his hand was still on Malfoy's shoulder, whose eyes had glazed over with the same blank look from earlier. "Draco?"

At the sound of his given name, Malfoy's eyes cleared and his head snapped up, staring at Harry in shock.

"Come on, Draco," Harry said, keeping his voice low. "I think we should get out of here too."

The blond nodded slowly, still staring at Harry without blinking. Harry squeezed Malfoy's shoulder in comfort, letting his touch linger for several more seconds before finally dropping his hand.

"Come on," Harry repeated, leading the other man from the room. "Let's get out of this place."

***

"We need to get out of this place, Hermione," Harry said in a low voice, panting.

"What do you think we've just spent the last hour trying to do, Harry?" She shot him a pointed look as she took a deep breath. "Nothing is working! The windows _will not break_. Reducto has no effect on the doors, either! We can't Apparate, the Floo still isn't working, and we've sent _dozens_ of Patronuses! I've tried Vanishing the walls, I've tried Transfiguring the walls, I've tried spells I could be suspended from the DMLE for using! I honestly don't know what else we can try at this point!"

"Not all of those are new, you know," Malfoy spoke up, and Harry turned to face him, noting that the blond still looked blank. "There are specific wards on both the windows and the doors to keep them from breaking as well as to keep anyone from entering the house through anything but the front door."

"Yeah, that seems to have backfired a bit," Ron muttered, rolling his shoulders with a grimace.

Malfoy said nothing, dropping his gaze to the floor, and Harry wanted to reassure him that any previously placed wards on the house were not his fault.

"But the front door is now warded just as heavily," Hermione frowned.

"When was the last time it was opened?" Harry wondered, stepping closer to Malfoy. "You said that Justin was the last person to arrive at the party, didn't you?"

"Yes," Malfoy nodded. "But I wasn't the one who answered the door. It was charmed to open upon the visitor presenting their invitation."

"Yes, just like the gates," Hermione mused.

"What if it wasn't really them?" Ron asked, shooting the front door a hard look. They were stood in the grand foyer, layers of Hermione's silencing charms draped over the four of them as they all took turns trying unsuccessfully to convince the front door to open. "What if someone else managed to get a hold of one of the invitations? What if they even came here looking like one of us?"

"You think someone here is under Polyjuice?" Harry wasn't quite sure what to make of the idea. On one hand, he much preferred the idea that it was not actually anybody in their year committing the murders; on the other hand, he really, really hated the idea that some unknown person was committing the same murders hidden behind another person's face. How would they ever figure out if that was true? They couldn't watch everybody at all times to make sure they weren't drinking from mysterious flasks like they had seen the fake Mad-Eye doing throughout fourth year.

"There might be a simple way to find out," Hermione shrugged, taking a step forward and pulling out her wand. " _Accio_ Polyjuice Potion!"

They all seemed to hold their breath as they waited, the silence feeling tense and hanging heavy in the air as nothing happened. Nothing zoomed toward Hermione, nothing slapped into her hand; Harry could not even hear anything approaching.

"Of course," she frowned, "that doesn't necessarily mean there is no Polyjuice in the house. There are spells to prevent objects from being summoned."

"Incredibly difficult spells," Malfoy pointed out. "You would essentially have to ward the object against being summoned, but in order for those wards to work, you would have to spell it in the exact same way that the caster was attempting to summon it." Raising his wand, he said loudly, " _Accio_ container the Polyjuice Potion is in!"

"Clever," Hermione said approvingly, offering him a smile. Harry couldn't help but smile at the pleased expression that Malfoy tried to keep hidden at her praise.

But nothing zoomed toward them.

"Maybe it's not Polyjuice," Harry sighed. "I mean, they would have had to bring an entire massive supply with them, wouldn't they? And it's not like they could make the potion here, that stuff takes a bloody month! Even a week's supply of Polyjuice is too much to be able to sneak in."

"Plus they would need somewhere to make it," Ron added, but Malfoy shook his head.

"I have a potions lab here, of course. It's on this floor."

"You have your own potions lab?" Hermione breathed, looking at him with impressed eyes. "I had to expand one of my closets to make enough room to fit everything I would need to brew, but it's still hardly anything!"

"It's bigger than your bedroom," Ron pointed out, and Harry chuckled.

"Do the two of you not live together?" Malfoy asked in surprise, and the couple shook their heads.

"Nah, Hermione lives alone," the redhead answered. "Her bloody books take up too much room and I would never have fit." She rolled her eyes as he sniggered. "I live with George and Lee near their shop. I'll stay over sometimes when Hermione manages to find her furniture beneath all the books she owns." He nudged her playfully with one elbow, earning a reluctant smile.

"You and Potter don't live together?" The confusion in Malfoy's voice had only deepened.

Harry shook his head with a grin. "I couldn't deal with how loudly Ron chews his food."

It was Hermione's turn to snigger at that.

"And I can't deal with how much of that tolly stuff Harry watches," Ron wrinkled his nose as Harry laughed.

" _Telly_ , Ron," he corrected.

"Yeah, whatever," the other man rolled his eyes. "All I know is that it gives me a headache. I dunno how you bloody watch it all the time. It makes me love Hermione even more for being raised by Muggles and never feeling the need to own a tolly box."

"Television box, Ronald," Hermione sighed fondly.

"Yeah, _whatever_ ," he emphasized. "Tolly boxes,"—both Hermione and Harry rolled their eyes at him—"are these evil things, Malfoy, that all Muggles are addicted to. They can only go so long without staring at one or they go mad. I once saw a man _in_ the tolly talking about how evil tolly was and how it rots the brain or something! But the only way you could hear how evil tolly is is by watching it to find out how evil the thing is! Barking mad, I tell you." Ron shook his head. "The tolly boxes are like these big, square…well," he paused to scratch his head, "boxes, really, with these tiny people trapped inside who spend all their time killing each other."

"Do they get to go free if they're the last ones left?" Malfoy wondered curiously, eyes narrowing as Hermione and Harry laughed at him.

"I dunno, I try not to look," Ron shrugged. "The ways they kill each other are disgusting. But they have entire worlds inside the tollies, like _entire_ miniature worlds. I have no idea how Muggles do it and Harry either won't explain it or isn't smart enough to."

"They're not even real people!" the brunet objected.

"They're definitely real people," Ron argued. "One time I saw some tiny Muggle bloke cut off another man's head with a spade! And then somehow bring both the head and the body back to life with a giant needle! And then talk to the head! And then another time some bloke got eaten by his own bed! And then I saw another bloke who had been locked up for _eating_ people! And he kept talking about someone who liked to skin women and wear the skins around! It was fucking nasty, I dunno how that stuff doesn't give you both nightmares every night. And it still never explains why whoever is controlling all those Inferi always wants them to fucking _eat_ people. I never got that. Especially the bit about brains. That sounds like the least appetizing body part they could eat. Muggles are a bit mad sometimes, aren't they?"

"First of all," Harry said, holding one finger up in emphasis, "there are other things on telly besides violence and zombies. Second, I don't even watch those sorts of shows."

"That sounds like a rather cruel thing to own, Potter, I'm surprised," Malfoy cut in, folding his arms. "You watch imprisoned Muggles decapitate one another as some form of entertainment?"

"They're not real!" Harry exclaimed. "They're just actors! And they don't live in the box!"

"No," Ron agreed. "They _die_ in the box."

"They don't live or die in the box," Harry grit his teeth. No matter how long and how well he knew Ron, some things were just impossible to explain. Harry often forgot how goddamn pureblooded Ron really was, despite his family's fierce non-traditional stances on most things and his father's love of the Muggle world. But some cultural differences were simply too wide a gap to bridge so easily. "Nobody is in the box! Those people are _actors_ and everything they do is being acted hundreds and thousands of miles away! None of it is real!"

Both Ron and Malfoy stared at him. "I still don't get it," Malfoy finally said, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Don't bother," Ron shrugged. "I've seen the blasted thing and even I still don't get it."

"Oh, you're just scared of television," Harry said, wanting to be done talking to purebloods about such inane things such as television.

"I am not!" Ron instantly said, sounding outraged. "Just 'cos I don't like 'em doesn't mean I'm bloody scared of 'em! I just think they're stupid. And unnecessary. And all the moving pictures give me a headache. And all the people in it spend _all their time_ killing each other!"

"All right," Hermione interrupted, shooting both men hard looks. "I'm not even sure that I know how this turned into an argument, but television is one of the least relevant things we could be discussing at the moment."

"I agree," Malfoy nodded. "None of us has had a chance to wash up and I think we should go do that. Afterwards, we can find everybody else, assign a group to start on lunch, and maybe try to find a way out again after that."

"Yes, Draco, I think that's an excellent plan," Hermione agreed, and Harry and Ron exchanged a glance at her continued usage of the blond's first name.

As they began to wander down the entrance hall, Ron slipped an arm around Hermione's shoulders and pulled her into his side. "I'm still glad you don't have a tolly box," he murmured, and Harry couldn't help but grin.

***

"So, Potter," Malfoy said an hour later, once the two of them were both bathed. Malfoy had changed into a new set of clothing, while Harry had been forced to cast several cleaning charms over the outfit he had already been wearing.

"So, Malfoy," Harry said, staring around the large hallway of the ground level they were wandering along. Lunch had been made, served, and eaten, the dishes all washed, and Harry had needed desperately to stretch his legs a bit and move around, to which Malfoy had instantly agreed.

"So, your girlfriend doesn't mind all the _tolly_ ," Malfoy's nose wrinkled as the word passed his lips, "that you watch?"

"Telly," Harry corrected automatically. "And girlfriend? Hermione is Ron's girlfriend."

"Yes, I know that," Malfoy sighed. "That's not the girlfriend I meant."

"What, you mean Cho?" Now Harry was really confused.

" _Chang?"_ Malfoy sounded shocked. "You're dating Chang again?"

"What? No!" Harry shook his head. "Why do you think I'm dating Cho?"

"Um, maybe because you just said her name when I brought up your girlfriend?" Malfoy said slowly, making Harry feel like a moron, which was most likely Malfoy's intention.

"Yeah, because I thought you were talking about her," Harry said, still sounding confused.

"I never said names, why would you think I meant her?" Now Malfoy sounded confused.

"I dunno, she was my date to the last Ministry function I went to," Harry shrugged. "I mean, who else would you have meant?"

"Obviously, I meant Weasley's sister!" Malfoy glared at him. "I don't get invited to any Ministry functions, and I certainly don't keep up-to-date on your personal life!"

"Ohhh, you mean Ginny," Harry nodded. That made more sense. "We broke up at the end of sixth year, she hasn't been my girlfriend in years."

"Oh." Malfoy still sounded confused. "But you're dating Chang now?"

"No!" Harry half-shouted, offering the man a sheepish look at his loud tone. "No, we're not dating. Definitely, definitely not. I mean, she's pretty and I like her well enough as a person and everything…"

"So what happened then?" the blond pressed, and Harry grimaced at the realization that he would not be finished asking questions any time soon. Why was everyone always so interested in Harry's dating life? "I thought you said your last date was with her?"

"It was," Harry rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "She asked me, so I said yes. But it really didn't take very long to remember why things had never worked out between us. She has this awful habit of trying to make me jealous, for some reason. I don't really get it, apparently it's a thing some people do. Hermione tried to explain it to me once, but I still don't understand."

"Did she flirt with someone else?" Malfoy smirked, but his eyes were sympathetic in a way that Harry had not been expecting.

He nodded. "Yeah, she spent half the night talking to this one bloke and shooting me these strange looks, like I was supposed to march over there and punch him in the face or something for daring to be too close to her, and then she agreed to dance with him right in front of me. And she spent most of the song staring at me over his shoulder!" He grimaced as Malfoy laughed. "I just don't get women, I really don't. I decided that Luna is going to be the only woman I will ever attend another stupid function with."

"Hmm," Malfoy hummed, and Harry had no idea what that was supposed to mean.

"What about you?" he asked, wanting to get the subject away from himself, but also curious about what Malfoy had been up to since his acquittal. "I always thought that you and Parkinson were together, but she and Zabini chose to be partners and were holding hands."

"Yes," Malfoy smiled wryly. "They, ironically enough, got together at the very end of sixth year. They live together in one of Blaise's mother's various houses. I believe that one was a gift from her fifth husband."

"Ah," Harry said, unsure how to take the information or what he was even really feeling about it. "Right. Well, you know, good for them." His mouth snapped shut as he realized that maybe Malfoy wouldn't agree it was good for either of them; maybe he still wanted Parkinson. At the thought, Harry was once again unsure what it was that he was feeling, only that he didn't particularly like it.

"Yes," Malfoy said quietly.

"I mean, I know what that's like," Harry continued, wanting to stop talking but somehow finding himself unable to prevent the words from spilling from his mouth, "being the third wheel and everything."

"Third wheel?" Malfoy turned to him with a confused look. "When did wheels come into any of this? You do realize that we were talking about people, Potter, don't you?"

Harry laughed. "Sorry, Muggle expression," he explained, grinning. "What I meant is that I know what it's like to be the odd one out around a couple."

"Oh, right," the blond nodded. "Hence why you and I are partners, having been deserted by our closest friends."

"It's nice to have something in common, isn't it?" Harry asked in a dry voice, still grinning. "Even if it is only the one thing."

"We're both only children," Malfoy pointed out, sounding thoughtful.

"Yeah, but I wasn't actually raised as such," Harry said with a shrug. "I was raised with a cousin my age."

"Oh," Malfoy's face fell, as though he had been wanting the two of them to have more things in common, and Harry couldn't help but feel unexpectedly pleased at the realization.

"We were both Seekers for our House teams," Harry told him, and Malfoy flashed him a brief smile. "And we were both born in England."

"We both live alone," Malfoy added, "and are both currently not dating anyone."

"Yeah," Harry chuckled, "we both live alone, but my flat's about the size of your bedroom." Malfoy shot him an odd look, one eyebrow raised. "I mean, I'm assuming," Harry added hastily. "I've never actually seen your bedroom, but I'm guessing it's the same size as my flat. Probably even bigger."

"There's another one," Malfoy smirked, "Neither of us has seen each other's bedrooms."

"God," Harry laughed, "we really do have so much in common, don't we? It's like we're the same person."

"Only one of us has better hair," the blond grinned.

"And one of us has better manners."

"And one of us has seventeen bank vaults."

"And one of us was offered a position on the England team as Seeker without even having to try out."

"And one of us owns our own Quidditch pitch."

"No way, do you really?" Harry asked in surprise, forgetting their banter. "That's incredible! Where is it?"

"On the other side of the estate," Malfoy drawled, eyes twinkling. "Past the stables. And next to the entire shed full of racing brooms and the personalized Quidditch equipment."

"Well, fuck," Harry laughed, shaking his head. "All right fine, you win. That is one thing I wish my flat had come with."

"I'll make you a deal," Malfoy smiled, "once we find a way out of here, I'll show you the Quidditch pitch and allow you to try it out if you show me that blasted tolly box. I can't even imagine what I'm meant to be picturing."

"Telly, Malfoy," Harry laughed again. "And deal."

Malfoy smiled and Harry couldn't help but smile back.

"Who would have guessed that a partnership between the two of us would somehow be the least problematic part of this entire party?" Malfoy mused.

"Who would have guessed any single one of the most problematic parts of the party?" Harry said, regretting it when Malfoy's mouth tightened.

"I promise you, Potter, I really did have nothing to do with anything that's happened so far," he said quietly, and Harry nodded.

"I believe you," he said in a voice just as soft, and Malfoy's head snapped to the side, staring at Harry in surprise.

"You really don't think I tricked everybody into coming here just for the opportunity to kill them off one at a time for some sort of sick sport?"

"I know you're not a killer, Malfoy, not even when you have to be, let alone out of nowhere and in cold blood like this," Harry told him, glancing away and feeling oddly vulnerable for admitting such a thing as having faith in Malfoy, no matter how unexpected that faith was for the both of them. "I asked if you wanted to be partners because I trust that you're not the killer, not because I think you are and wanted to keep an eye on you."

Malfoy's surprise grew more pronounced. "Well, that—that's good," the blond stammered, appearing unsure how to respond.

"Maybe we should head back to the others now," Harry suggested, still feeling uncomfortable.

Silently, Malfoy gestured to lead the way, both men turning around and beginning to tread the path they had just come from.

"So," Harry said after several minutes of tense silence, "do you really live here all alone?" His words seemed to bounce off the darkened walls and echo back to him. The house was large and intimidating, with a threatening feel to the air, and Harry had no idea how someone could live in such a home by themselves. It seemed to always be cold in the Manor, and Harry did not like the sound of their footsteps reverberating along the large hallway, the one half-cloaked in darkness. The entire house seemed to be constantly cobwebbed in clinging shadows, no matter the time of day, giving everything an ominous feel. It felt like the shadows were watching them; it felt like the walls could hear them; it felt like even the air was aware of their presence. Everything about the house felt sinister and bleak, funereal, almost, in a way that Harry had never known a house could be. How could Malfoy live in such a place all alone?

"Yes," Malfoy said in a low voice, shooting an odd look around the walls, and Harry couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking.

"Why don't you live somewhere less…" Harry struggled to find an appropriate word that wouldn't offend the other man.

"Less…" Malfoy prodded, giving him a knowing look.

"Less…like this?" The final two words tripped their way free as Harry gestured around himself helplessly.

"Less lonely and depressing, you mean?" the blond drawled, one eyebrow raised, and Harry gave him a shrug in response, wanting to agree without having to say the words aloud.

"It's just…such a big house for one person to be living in," he mumbled.

"There have been Malfoys living in this house for centuries," Malfoy said in a faraway voice, tone strange. "I can hardly be the first one to desert the ancestral home, now can I?"

"Fuck the ancestral home, Malfoy," Harry frowned. Was that really the reason the man stayed in such a miserable place? "We're talking about your comfort here! You should live somewhere you're comfortable actually residing in!"

"And who says I'm not comfortable here?" Malfoy asked dryly, and Harry rolled his eyes, shooting him a pointed look.

"I…don't know why I don't leave," Malfoy whispered, determinedly not looking at Harry. "I've thought about it. I think about it a lot. But…I don't know. Maybe I really should leave, but I just…never do. I've lived here my entire life, Potter. I wouldn't know where else to go."

Harry glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, noting the flush in the man's cheeks. "Well, maybe it's time," he suggested softly. "Once we get out of here, I mean. Maybe it'll finally be time to put this place behind you. Weren't you the one talking about how much you've changed and how you want the world to start recognizing it? Maybe you should start by recognizing it yourself. You're living in the exact same place you've always lived, in a place with a history that I know wasn't all happy for you. Maybe you should be the first to fully put the past behind you before expecting others to do the same in regards to you."

Malfoy said nothing for a very long time, and Harry couldn't help but worry that he had offended the man and that the newfound truce between them was now shattered forever because of Harry's apparent inability to mind his own business. Seriously, who told another person where to live? How arrogant did that make Harry sound?

But finally, Malfoy slanted a glance at him, appearing thoughtful. "Maybe you're right, Potter."

Harry grinned. "Keep saying that statement, Malfoy, and this partnership might just work out after all."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "All right, I take it all back. Nobody changes; you're still the same prat you've always been."

Harry chuckled. "If I was a prat, Malfoy, what would that make what you used to be?"

The sound of Malfoy's unwilling laughter and the sight of his smile sent something warm shooting through Harry's stomach; he wasn't sure what it was, but it made him want to make Malfoy smile again. And again. _Who knew Draco Malfoy had a nice smile?_ Harry thought to himself, wondering what else he would discover about the man. _And who would have guessed we could get on so well?_

"What do you think the others have been doing?" Harry wondered aloud.

Malfoy shrugged. "I'm sure they've been doing nothing more than sitting around blaming all the Slytherins or going mad from boredom. If any of them cared to ask me in a civil tone what there is to do in this house, I could show them to the snooker room or the library or the music room. The conservatory is also an impressive room to visit."

Without meaning to, Harry suddenly came to a halt. "The conservatory! Malfoy, how many walls in that room are made of glass?! Maybe we can—"

"Won't work," the blond shook his head. "I already told you—all the windows have been reinforced with wards that were built into the very foundation of this house, they won't break, not even from the inside. And the conservatory is even more heavily warded against the off-chance of intruders."

Harry deflated in disappointment, sighing as he began forward once more. "So are you saying that nothing like this has ever happened before?"

Malfoy gave him a strange look. "What, you mean the house locking a bunch of people up with a murderer?"

"No," Harry sighed again, wondering how much of an idiot Malfoy thought him to be, "I mean, has nobody in your family ever needed to escape the house quickly? I guess that locks work well enough at keeping everyone outside from coming in, but what if the people you want to keep out have already gotten in? What did your ancestors intend you to do then?"

Malfoy said nothing for several moments. "To my knowledge, nothing like this has ever happened before. We've somehow been entirely cut off from the Floo network, which I can assure you was not my doing. And unfortunately, we cannot get reconnected without being able to contact the Ministry. And whilst the windows in the house are not able to be broken, they should be able to be opened from the inside, which now seems impossible, based on the countless windows we attempted to open last night. The doors have never locked like this—it's like something is holding them shut, but I have no idea what. And although Apparating in and out of this house is impossible for most people, I, at least, should be able to. But I can't, no matter how many times I try. I don't know what this is, Potter, I really don't. I don't have even the slightest idea of what's happening or who's behind it all. I don't have any idea why someone would even want to do this."

"Maybe that's the first thing we should look at," Harry mused thoughtfully. "Who would want to do this to us? Why us? Is it a coincidence that we're being attacked at a party full of people from our year, or are we being specifically targeted for the year we were in?"

"Well, Granger said she warded the dining room last night," Malfoy said slowly, "so the second murder had to have been committed by someone who was already in there."

Harry sighed. "Which leaves most of the people here a suspect."

"Well," Malfoy shrugged, "as awful as this sounds, we may need at least one more death to occur before we can really start narrowing the list down."

Harry stared at him. "Yep, you're right," he finally said, "that does sound awful."

"Hey, I'm not saying I want that to happen!" Malfoy immediately defended. "Especially in my home! But Granger was very clever splitting us up into pairs—we're all unconsciously keeping wary eyes on our partners in case they're the guilty ones just as much as we're keeping eyes on them to make sure they're all right. If we're constantly with the other person, there can be much less chance of murder without someone else finding out."

"We all picked partners we trust though," Harry pointed out, "of course we're not waiting around to see if they're the guilty one."

Malfoy raised one eyebrow, and Harry flushed. "I mean, you know, _most_ of us picked partners we trust. I mean—" he flushed darker, "I trust you not to kill me."

"Your faith in me is very moving," Malfoy drawled.

"What if it's not just one person behind all this?" Harry asked slowly. "Or what if the ones who have been murdered were never the real intended targets?"

"What do you mean?" Malfoy's nose wrinkled. "How do you accidentally kill the wrong person?"

"I dunno," Harry said honestly, "but what if Mandy had gotten up in the middle of the night and someone mistook her for somebody else? And what if what happened to Hannah really was a potion and not a spell? If it was a potion, it had either been deliberately put in her specific glass, or it had been placed in any one of the glasses and she just happened to pick it up."

"But that would make her the intended target by default," Malfoy argued, "if it was placed there to be picked up by chance. You can't potion just one of the glasses intending it to be drunk by a specific person, there were dozens of glasses laid out. So maybe you're right and there has been nothing specific about the choice of victims—but wouldn't that still make them the intended targets if random chance is the whole point of this?"

"You make it sound like a game when you say it like that," Harry frowned. "Like someone's ending lives on a roll of the dice, or something."

Malfoy shrugged. "Maybe that's the whole point of all of this. Maybe it's not about bloodshed so much as it is about playing a game. It seems as sensical a reason as any other for mass murder, frankly."

"But if it was about a game and not murder," Harry said distantly, mind spinning, "why would the company you hired have also been killed? That's not really random chance, is it?"

Malfoy shrugged again. "Maybe they saw whoever is behind this do something guilty and were killed as a result."

"Malfoy," Harry surprised the both of them by reaching out to grasp Malfoy's upper arm, forcing the two men to a halt, "when did you say the champagne glasses were laid out in the ballroom?"

"It was being done during dinner," Malfoy said slowly, gaze darting between Harry's face and the hand Harry still had on the man's bicep. "They set up the dining room first and then moved to the ballroom while we were eating."

"And you said that Cornfoot was late, didn't you?" Harry asked, and Malfoy nodded.

"But Finch-Fletchley was the latest—he wasn't at the dinner at all."

"That's right," Harry mused, not sure why he was still holding onto Malfoy. "But since you didn't answer the door, nobody knows when he actually got here. Or Cornfoot, for that matter. All we know was that Justin got here in time to join everyone in the ballroom, but we don't know if that's actually when he arrived."

"Yes," Malfoy agreed, still staring at Harry's hand, "but that doesn't mean you can cross everyone else off the list. Everybody had access to that drink's table, it still could have been anyone. Nobody was guarding it last night, everybody had the opportunity to spike one of the drinks. We don't even know if it _was_ a potion."

"Yes," Harry nodded, "that's true. But this at least gives us something to go off, doesn't it? It at least gives us two people to keep a closer eye on instead of staring blindly at nothing."

A hum of agreement was Malfoy's only response, and it was not until that moment that Harry realized how close the two of them were standing; Harry still had one hand on Malfoy's arm, and he wasn't even sure when that had happened or how long it had been there. Flushing, Harry dropped his hold, shifting his weight onto his back foot.

"Well, come on then," he said gruffly, feeling oddly embarrassed, "the room's right there," he jerked his chin in the direction of the room, only several feet up the hall from them, "let's go see what the others are up to."

"All right," Malfoy said in a quiet voice, and Harry shot him a look out of the corner of one eye, wondering what the man was thinking. The short walk to the lounge was silent, both men stealing quick glances at one another before turning away, an odd sort of energy building between them. Harry had no idea what it meant and was grateful when they finally reached the door, allowing himself to relax.

But the moment it was pushed open, Harry was instantly alert once more. Everybody in the room was standing, appearing coiled and tense, every single person's body language screaming that something was wrong.

Before Harry could ask what it was, though, Hermione was walking over to them. "Harry," she said grimly, and at her tone, Harry instantly reached for his wand, knowing something was very wrong.

"What is it?" he asked, gazing around with sharp eyes.

"Terry is missing," she said simply.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The kill list is only getting longer with every chapter! My bad. Any suspicions yet? Any predictions? Anyone catch those movie references? (I do so love a good horror film!)


	4. More Unfamiliar and More Awful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
>  _"I have been made to learn that the doom and burden of our life is bound forever on man's shoulders; and when the attempt is made to cast it off, it but returns upon us with more unfamiliar and more awful pressure."_   
>  **
> 
> —Robert Louis Stevenson, _The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_

At the words, Harry slipped instantly into Auror Mode. "How long has he been missing?" he asked Hermione, who was scribbling something down in her tiny notebook.

"Stephen came in a few minutes ago," she said, glancing up. "He said that the two of them had waited until lunch was cleared away before then going to one of the bathrooms near the kitchen to wash up. He said that Terry had gone in first and was supposed to wait afterwards for Stephen, but he said that when he came out, Terry was gone. He said that he looked around a bit but couldn't find him, so he came back here."

"Did you already check his wand?" Harry asked, keeping his voice low.

"Yes," she said just as quietly, "there were no curses or anything incriminating that I could find, but as Ron pointed out yesterday, that doesn't mean that he couldn't have simply cast another spell immediately afterwards, allowing the _priori_ to read that one instead."

Harry frowned, nodding. "And who was missing from this room at the time?"

Hermione sighed. "Honestly, Harry, quite a lot of us were. Ron and I were in the foyer trying to find a way out of here; Neville had taken Justin to look around for a bit and they're still not back. I have absolutely no idea where the Slytherins have been, other than the fact that they refuse to be in the same room as everyone else. Padma and Parvati were here, speaking with Lisa and Susan. Michael and Anthony haven't come back yet from wherever they wandered off to. Seamus and Dean said they wanted to help Neville find a way out, but I'm pretty sure they just wanted to poke around the rooms. And Zacharias and Kevin left without telling anyone where they were going."

"Fuck," Harry muttered. "How long did Stephen say Terry has been missing?"

"A little over thirty minutes," Hermione answered, scribbling something down in her notebook.

"All right," Harry nodded. "So we look for him. I think we should group up into teams of four and start combing the ground floor. If we find nothing, we'll check upstairs and the cellar. We'll all have to keep an eye out for the others as well. How about you and Ron take Lisa and Susan, and Malfoy and I will take Padma and Parvati. Deal?"

"All right," Hermione agreed. "We'll take Stephen with us as well, then." Turning to the four girls standing huddled near the sofa, Hermione quickly outlined the plan, gesturing for Lisa and Susan to join her and Ron, as well as a quiet, blank-faced Stephen leaning against the wall. Padma and Parvati made their way over to Harry and Malfoy, and Harry could see fear on both of their faces, as well as what he suspected to be relief, and he wasn't quite sure what to make of that.

"Okay," Harry called to Ron and Hermione, "let's both start in the entrance hall, yeah? We'll turn left down the main hallway and you lot can head right."

"Got it," Ron nodded, leading the way from the room. Harry and Malfoy brought up the rear, exchanging a glance before exiting.

"This could take a very long time, you realize," Draco said in a low voice. "I think you are all underestimating how many rooms there are in this house."

"Well, he couldn't be in either of the sealed rooms," Harry said, not looking forward to the daunting task of searching for what was most likely now a corpse hidden in one of the million or so rooms of Malfoy's enormous mansion. "Those have both been warded shut."

Reaching the main hall, Harry's group turned left while the others went right, and Harry did not like the ominous feel of the corridor. The air felt heavy and stifling and _alive_ , in a strange way; it felt stale like sour breath, as though the very walls were watching, listening, breathing, aware of their every movement. Parvati shuddered and moved closer to Harry, clutching at his arm and tucking herself against his side.

"God, I'm glad we're with you, Harry," she said quietly, and he turned to offer her what he hoped was a comforting smile. He hadn't been this close to her since the night of the Yule Ball; he certainly hadn't touched her since the few dances they had shared. She smelled sweet, like cherry blossoms, and it was a welcome relief from the cold musty smell of the stagnant air around them. "If there's anyone who can get us out of here, it's you."

"I'll try, Parvati," he said—it was the most he could promise at that time. Padma moved around to Parvati's other side, and Harry could see her eyes darting fearfully around the place.

"Here's the first room," Malfoy said in a strange voice, halting before a pale wooden door with a dark brass handle. He was glaring at the door as though it had just insulted him, and Harry had no idea what to make of his sudden anger. Malfoy had been fine moments ago—what was wrong with him now?

"All right," Harry said, slipping his arm from Parvati's grasp and tightening his grip on his wand. "I'll go in first. Malfoy, I want you to stay in the back behind the girls, all right? I don't want anybody sneaking up on them from behind." He saw the sisters exchange a loud look.

"Right, because I'm clearly the expendable one," the blond muttered, moving behind the twins.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not actually expecting an attack from behind, this is just a precaution." Taking a breath, Harry twisted the knob and allowed the heavy door to swing open with a foreboding creak. Stepping slowly inside, the lamps in the room flared to life, throwing dim light and shadows over everything. The room appeared to be a small study, one that didn't seem to be used very often, judging by the stark neatness of everything and the impersonal feel of the decor. Harry stepped fully into the room, hearing the others shuffle in behind him, all of them checking cautiously for any sign of Terry.

"Do you really think they would try to hide him?" Malfoy wondered. "The first two murders were committed so openly; why wouldn't his body be left somewhere we would all see it?"

Harry frowned; he had wondered the same thing.

"So does that mean he's definitely dead then?" Padma asked fearfully. "You don't think we'll find him alive?"

"No," Malfoy said simply, and Harry shot him a pointed look, one the blond chose to ignore. "Boot is too smart to simply wander off alone like that; he would never have left his partner behind. Someone obviously did something to him. He's clearly already dead."

"Stop it, Malfoy," Harry hissed as Padma's dark face paled.

"I don't want him to be dead," she whispered. "Terry is so nice, how could someone do something bad to him? How is any of this happening?"

"It'll be all right, Padma," Harry told her, placing his hands on her shoulders and hoping it would snap her from her horrified shock. "We'll find a way out of here, I promise."

"Harry's right," Parvati said, moving to Harry's side and placing one hand over Harry's. "We'll be fine, I know we will. We're with Harry." She turned her head to offer him a pretty smile, one that wavered at the corners. "We're with Harry and we'll be fine."

The words made Harry uncomfortable, making him want to point out that he was only human and so far from infallible it was nearly absurd, but Padma seemed to be calming and he did not want to send her back into that state of panic she had been heading towards.

"Yes," Malfoy interrupted, "Harry Potter will save us all, it's what he does. Can we move on to the next room already?" He muttered something beneath his breath, something that Harry was certain he was glad he did not catch. Fuck, what was Malfoy's problem? Why was he so angry?

"Come on, Padma, Parvati," he said gently, sighing internally when Parvati instantly attached herself to his side once more.

Slowly, they made their way down the hall, checking every room they came across but finding nothing. Until finally, they came to a halt outside a large set of chestnut doors with shiny gold handles. A pair of voices was coming from inside, and Harry paused, holding his hand out to the others.

"Someone's inside," he whispered. "Malfoy, stay out here with Padma and Parvati. I'll check this out. It's most likely one of the unaccounted pairs but wait right here until I know for sure it's safe." His words were met with silence, which Harry took as acknowledgment.

Wand held tight in one hand, he grasped the round handle with the other and silently pushed, grateful that this door did not creak as it opened. Moving cautiously, he peeked around the door, wondering what he'd find. At the sight that met him, he instantly relaxed. Seamus and Dean stood lounging near a snooker table with cues in their hands, half the colorful balls peppered randomly across the green felt surface of the table. The sight seemed almost comically out of place during such a serious time.

"Seamus, Dean," Harry said, stepping inside and gesturing behind him for the others to follow. Both men glanced up, grinning.

"Hiya, Harry," Dean greeted. "You want next game?"

"Who the hell said either one of you were allowed in here?" Malfoy spoke up from behind Harry, stepping forward to glare at the two Gryffindors.

They both shrugged, appearing unapologetic. "We were bored," Seamus explained, bending low to take his shot. The sharp clack of the balls striking one another made Padma jump.

"Your game will have to wait," Harry frowned. "Come with us, we're rounding everybody up."

"Why?" Dean asked, bending down and studying the table before him. "Is this like a group strategy meeting or something?"

"No," Harry sighed. "Terry is missing. We're looking for him right now."

"Fuck," Dean swore, nearly launching the stick in his hands across the table in surprise. "Shit."

"Have either of you heard anything?" Harry wondered. "Any footsteps, voices, doors opening or closing?"

Seamus and Dead traded a look. "No," they both answered, laying their cues down on the table.

"And how long have the both of you been in this room?" Harry asked, trying to establish some sort of timeline for everything in his head.

"Eh," Seamus shrugged, "an hour maybe? Maybe just under?"

"All right," Harry nodded. "And the both of you have been together the entire time?" They both nodded. Nodding back, Harry did a quick sweep of their surroundings before leading the others from the room. "Let's go then." As he exited, Malfoy stepped toward him, taking the place by his side that Parvati had been occupying, and Harry saw her scowl as she fell back to walk beside her sister instead.

"How many more rooms?" Harry asked in a low voice, glancing over at Malfoy.

"Just the conservatory left now," Malfoy told him, jerking his chin further down the hall where a large set of black doors sat, both fitted with opaque panes of glass and delicate silver handles.

Striding forward, Harry grasped the handles and pushed, gasping at the sight that met him. His very first thought was that the room was bloody enormous. Stepping inside, he gazed around in awe, noting that nearly every wall in the room was made entirely of glass. A huge domed ceiling stretched above their heads, offering an unbroken view of the grey sky above. A single long, gabled hallway stretched to either side of Harry, leading to two other large, separate rooms, and Harry could see that those were constructed from thick glass as well. In the corner, a delicate spiral staircase twisted gracefully up to a second level walkway that edged the outside of the entire main room. A stone fountain lay in the very center, the water still and silent, and Harry wondered if it was meant to be that way or if there had at some point been fish living in it. Blossoming trees and unknown plants spilled around the room, but Harry thought they looked rather sad and drooping for some reason, cast in the dim grey light of an overcast sky. Even the conservatory was darker than Harry had been expecting. Did the sun simply never shine down on this house? Did it never warm the walls with its presence? The thought made Harry shiver unexpectedly, suddenly feeling cold.

"Harry?" a voice called, and Harry's snapped in the direction the sound had come from, instantly spotting Neville walking toward him from one of the other rooms connected to either end of the hallway.

"Neville," he called back, feeling relieved. "Hey, what are you doing here?"

Neville sighed. "I was hoping to find a way out. I thought the conservatory would be a pretty safe bet, considering it's almost all made of glass, but…"

"The glass is warded," Malfoy spoke up, looking around the room with a blank expression, and Harry couldn't help but wonder what the man was thinking. "Especially the glass in here. You won't be able to break through it."

"That's what I was afraid of," Neville sighed again.

"Where's Justin?" Harry wondered, peering around.

Neville jerked his chin in the direction of the other end of the hallway. "In that room still, I think."

"Hey," Harry said quietly, tugging Neville away from the group to speak with him. "Have the two of you been together the whole time over the past hour?"

Neville flicked a glance in the direction of the room Justin was in. "No," he said in a wary voice, the single word weighted with hesitation. "We came in here a while ago, but Justin left after a few minutes, saying that he needed to find a loo. I tried to go with him, but he kept insisting he would be fine and he wanted me to focus on finding a way out of here as quickly as possible."

"Did he find you immediately when he came back?" Harry lowered his voice even further.

"I think it was immediately after," Neville said, matching Harry's tone and volume. "He was gone for kind of a while though. Said he had gotten lost trying to find a toilet. Why, Harry, what's going on? Why are you asking about Justin?"

"Terry is missing," Harry told him, glancing at the others. "Stephen said they went to a bathroom to wash up and at some point, Terry vanished. We have another group checking the rooms in the opposite wing while we take this side, but we haven't found a thing yet."

"How long ago was this?" Neville asked with narrowed eyes.

"Just under an hour ago," Harry said, checking his watch.

Neville's eyes narrowed even further. "That's right around the time we came in here."

Harry's eyes narrowed as well. If they had gotten there an hour ago, and Justin had excused himself and left right after that, right around when Terry had gone missing… "Let's go find Hermione and Ron," he said. He needed to speak with them about everything and hopefully they would be able to piece together some sort of established timeline for every single person. "Come on, then. Let's head back to the lounge."

Nodding, Neville went off to fetch Justin, returning a few moments later with a puzzled look on his face. "He's not in there," he said.

"What?" Harry asked sharply. "He's not in there?"

"No," Neville shook his head. "But I know he was, I saw him go in there after he got back and I heard him casting spells."

"Could he have slipped out without you being aware?" Had Justin gone into the room and then snuck back out when Neville wasn't paying attention?

"Well, yeah," Neville shrugged, appearing uncomfortable. "We had separated to search for weak points on the walls; this place is bloody huge."

"So, Justin's now missing too," Harry mused, wondering if his budding suspicions about the Hufflepuff were about to be proven correct. "We really need to get back to the lounge and see if everyone else has found anything." Had they found the others? Had they found a body? Had Terry been sliced apart just as viciously as Hannah and Mandy? Harry couldn't seem to stop picturing their deaths—he couldn't stop seeing the look on Hannah's face right before her entire rib cage snapped outwards, punching a gaping cavity right through her and rending her entire chest in half; or the cold, glassy expression on Mandy's face as she gazed down with unseeing eyes at her insides spilled wetly across her own lap.

"All right," Neville nodded, glancing back down at the room Justin was meant to have been in.

Without another word, Neville led the way from the room and Harry waited until the others had followed before bringing up the rear, Malfoy falling into step beside him as they made their way silently down the corridor. The hallway seemed even more soaked in shadows than it had been when they had first arrived at the conservatory, every side table and painting seeming drenched in darkness. It gave the hallway a strange shrinking feeling, as though the shadows were pressing in on them from all sides, making Harry feel unexpectedly claustrophobic, certain that the walls were somehow creeping closer and closer with every soft footstep and loud beat of his racing heart. Was the hallway getting narrower? Were the edges getting nearer? Were the shadows waiting to reach out and snatch them all violently away the second they got too close?

Inhaling deeply, Harry held it for a moment before releasing the breath, the air feeling stagnant and dry in his lungs. For some reason, the corridor was reminding him of his childhood cupboard—something he actively tried to never think about. But being there in that darkening hallway was reminding him of being trapped in a tiny cramped space cloaked in darkness so thick Harry had been able to taste it; darkness so thick Harry had felt it physically wrap around his frail body the moment he entered the cupboard, smothering him with enormous arms the color of charcoal, heavy onyx fingers pressing down on his eyelids and creeping down his throat, filling his lungs with black tar so thick he had not been able to breathe through it; stuck in a tiny room where time had no meaning, where it was eternally night, eternally dark, a room permanently trapped in midnight; a room that, no matter how hard Harry tried, no matter how much he squinted and pleaded with any greater power listening, he could never find even the barest speck of light in its depths; it was a room that had no light to offer. And Harry had spent so many years confined to that room—tossed into the darkness without a second thought; shoved in with rough hands no matter how much he cried and begged not to be put in there. He could still hear the sound of the lock on the outside of the door sliding shut, could still feel the wood of the cupboard door pressed against his back, his heart racing wildly, feeling panicked and frantic and desperate not to lose himself in the heavy black of the room, desperate to keep hold of the door just to have a sense of where he actually was in the world, imprisoned in a darkness so black he had not been able to see his surroundings, he had not been able to see any part of his own body, and he had always feared losing himself in that oil-colored fog, drifting away on an ocean of black; he had been terrified of being swallowed by the shadows, the ones that seemed to loom over him with snapping teeth the color of ink, veiled hungry creatures hiding in the depths of the darkness surrounding him, hiding in the depths of his own fear of that darkness—oh god, they would snap him up without a thought, bones and all. The shadows would not hesitate to devour him, they would not hesitate to crush him between ravenous black jaws that he would not even see coming. As a child, Harry had often heard children speak about a "monster in the closet", hearing adults reassure them that there was nothing in the closet to fear, no beast hidden away, waiting to eat them up the moment they turned their backs, but Harry had always known they were wrong. There _was_ a monster in the closet; there was a living, breathing monster hiding in every single closet, underneath every single child's bed. Darkness was that monster. Cold, empty darkness that somehow still drew breath, somehow still pulsed with hollow life; Harry had felt its icy breath against the back of his neck as a child, had felt its barbed tongue rasp over his bare arms, and he could do nothing to fight against the shadows. He had been nothing more than a tiny boy locked in a tiny room, trapped with the monster all children spoke of being so terrified of, only it had never lived in Harry's closet—Harry had been forced to live in its cage.

The memories made his head spin, and Harry could almost see the shadows reaching out to him with sharp, jagged fingers made of ebony and ice. _Oh, god_. He struggled to draw breath, feeling the familiar slither of the shadows trickling their way down his throat, pooling coldly in his lungs, his stomach, his veins, settling in his bones. He could feel them itch beneath his skin. He stumbled, surprised when a warm hand reached out to catch him.

"Potter?" a familiar voice asked, concern layering every syllable. "Are you all right?"

Shaking himself, Harry nodded tightly, trying to focus only on the sight of the others walking in front of him, appearing miles away, but he could still see the shadows out of the corners of his eyes, creeping closer and closer, edging nearer to him, tiptoeing on silent feet as quiet and as black as a lonely moonless night, leaving a trail of oily footprints behind in their wake; Harry could almost hear the padding of their ink-stained feet sneaking closer, could almost hear the rattling breaths they took and smell their fetid breath, icy-hot on the back of his neck.

"Seriously, Potter," a voice cut through the midnight-fog surrounding him, "are you all right?"

He startled as two hands wrapped tightly around his biceps, suddenly finding himself gazing into a pair of pale grey eyes the color of early dawn, the sight relaxing him for some reason.

"Harry," Malfoy said in a quiet voice, staring at him intensely, "What is the matter?"

"I—" Harry shook himself. "I have to get out of this hallway. I-I—oh fuck." Shutting his eyes, he allowed his head to drop forward onto Malfoy's shoulder, drawing a deep breath and trying his hardest to shove the horrid memories of his cupboard back down into the ignored corner of his mind that he normally kept them in. He hadn't thought about his cupboard in years—he thought he had been over it.

"Breathe, Harry," Malfoy murmured, rubbing his back in comfort. "I don't know where your mind has taken you, but it's okay. Just breathe. I promise you that you are safe. Just keep moving, the lounge is just ahead, I promise that it's not too much farther."

Head still resting on Malfoy's shoulder, Harry nodded, clutching the front of Malfoy's amethyst-colored robes and drawing a deep breath. Lifting his head, he nodded again at Malfoy, much more firmly than before.

"Come on," Malfoy murmured, steering Harry quickly down the hall. They saw the others up ahead, all halted in a large group, and Harry saw that Hermione and Ron's group was also just returning, all of them standing together in the corridor and speaking to one another.

Ignoring them all, Malfoy led Harry to the door of the lounge, one arm still wrapped around his upper back. Harry reached out to grasp the copper doorknob, twisting it and pushing the door open.

But in the next second, Harry was gasping sharply and stumbling back a step as Malfoy's free hand flew to his mouth in shock, his grey eyes wide and horrified.

There in the lounge, sitting before them on the sofa as though he had been waiting for them the entire time, was the bloodied corpse of Terry Boot.

oOo

Harry should shut the door; he knew that he should shut the door. But the sight was too gruesome to turn away from, too terrifying to close his eyes to. Terry sat upright in the very middle of the sofa, facing the door as though he had been put there just to greet them. His hands were flopped uselessly at his sides, his eyes wide open and glassy. His throat had been slit, drenching his body in crimson splashes and staining everything it touched red. His clothing was soaked in blood, looking wet and sticky to the touch. The floor before him was splattered with thick puddles and red stripes, forming twisting shapes and patternless patterns on the champagne-colored rug.

But it was Terry's expression that Harry could not stop looking at—his eyes were glassy and wide open, seeming to stare straight through Harry, the other man sat in the perfect position to gaze directly at the doorway. Drops of red liquid flecked his chin and jaw, his entire neck painted scarlet. Above that, two smiling lips were dotted with blood, his mouth stretched wide in an almost manic grin, and the sight sent a shudder through Harry. His smile was toothy and strange, and Harry had no idea what to make of it. Why the fuck was Terry _smiling?_ How could someone smile as their throat was being slit?

"Oh my god," Malfoy whispered, staggering back several steps in horror. "Oh my god." Harry glanced over sharply, noting that the others had noticed Malfoy backing away from the room and were coming over to investigate.

Automatically, Harry wrenched the door shut, heart pounding viciously. So, it looked like Terry Boot really was dead, something he did not want the others to see, especially Padma. _Oh, god._ It felt as though Harry was going to be sick—the sight of Terry's grinning face sitting atop a bloodied body, the smile reflecting the long gaping slash stretched across his throat…Harry was certain he would never be able to forget the sight.

Fingers reached out and clutched at the fabric of his shirt, and he looked around to see Malfoy standing directly behind him, appearing paler than normal, breathing heavily and sounding as though he was on the verge of panic.

"Draco," Harry said quietly, succeeding in snapping the man's attention onto himself.

"Oh god, Harry," the blond whispered, and Harry silently agreed. His limbs felt strange and tingly, his entire body feeling odd. His insides felt numb and lifeless, while his skin felt as though it was crawling, as though something prickly and unpleasant was creeping across every inch of his flesh.

"Harry." Hermione's voice suddenly sounded right beside him, and he glanced over to find her peering at him with concern.

"Keep them away from that door, Hermione," Harry warned in a raspy voice. "Don't let anyone open it."

Mouth tightening, Hermione nodded, casting a complicated locking spell over the door.

"There's a parlor right there," Malfoy said weakly, pointing to a door along the opposite side of the wide entrance hall. "You can take them all in there."

"Okay," Hermione said, turning to speak to Ron in a low voice, who instantly began shooing everyone into the parlor. Turning back to the two men, Hermione waved her wand. "Sit down," she ordered softly, reaching out to push first Harry and then Malfoy into a seated position on the chairs she had just Conjured. "Just breathe, all right?" Conjuring two glasses, she cast an _aguamenti_ , filling them one at a time with clear water and handing them to the two seated men. "I want you to drink some water, okay?" she said, keeping her words soft.

Sipping his water obediently, Harry was surprised to find he really was thirsty. Both he and Malfoy drained their glasses, shaking their heads when Hermione asked if they wanted more. She Vanished the empty glasses right as Ron joined them.

"Neville got them all in the parlor," he said, glancing at the lounge door. "What's in there that you don't want anybody seeing, Harry?"

At the question, both Harry and Malfoy turned their attention to the door. "Terry," Harry answered quietly. "Terry's in there."

Ron's gaze sharpened as he turned to exchange a look with Hermione. She unlocked the door with her wand, and Harry saw Malfoy turn away as Ron twisted the knob and pushed the door open. From where he was sat, Harry could see one of Terry's blood-stained hands lying on the sofa beside his body, alongside clothing darkened and still wet with crimson splashes. Copying Malfoy and turning away from the sight, Harry looked over to see a blank expression on Malfoy's face, one that made the brunet shiver.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

Malfoy shook his head, swiveling his neck back around to give Harry an anguished look. "What the hell is going on?" he whispered. "Who is doing this? Who the hell is capable of doing something like that?"

"I don't know," Harry murmured, wanting to reach out to Malfoy in comfort but feeling himself hesitate for some reason. "We'll find them though, I promise."

"They waited until we had all left that room," Malfoy continued in a whisper. "They wanted us to find him like that. They're fucking _toying_ with us, Potter; they're getting off on this. Whoever is doing this is fucking _enjoying_ it; this is all just a game to them. Our lives are nothing more than a game to them. And it's someone we fucking _know_ behind it all _._ "

"We'll find them," Harry repeated, voice as numb as his insides.

The soft click of a door closing grabbed his attention and he glanced over to find Hermione locking the lounge once more, a grim look on her face. "Right," she said heavily. "I wasn't really expecting to find him alive, but this certainly wasn't—"

"Hey," a voice said behind her, and they all looked to the source, Harry's eyes narrowing as he saw Justin walking toward them. "There you guys are, I've been looking for you."

"Well, that's ironic," Harry said in a low voice, "because we've been looking for _you_."

"What do you mean?" Justin asked, sounding puzzled. "Do you know where Neville went? He just disappeared on me. I'm really worried, actually, I came back here to find someone to help me look for him."

"He's in the parlor with everyone else," Hermione told him, eyes flicking between Justin and Harry.

"Can we see your wand, Justin?" Harry pushed himself to his feet, holding out his hand.

A flicker of something crossed Justin's face at the request. "Why?" he asked, holding his wand to his chest protectively.

"Because," Harry said calmly, "Terry is dead. We're checking wands."

" _What?"_ Justin gasped. "Terry is _dead?_ When? _How?!_ "

"He was found about four minutes ago," Harry told him, hand still held out. "Let me see your wand, Justin."

Justin gaped at him. "You can't think I had something to do with this!"

"We always check everyone's wands," Harry said, voice hardening, "you know this. It will only take a second, so hand it over already."

Justin stared at him for a long moment, a defiant light in his eyes, and Harry was certain he would refuse. "Fine," he finally relented with a sigh, handing it to Harry. Heart pounding with apprehension, Harry placed the tip of his wand to Justin's and cast a _Priori Incantatem,_ noting with a small amount of relief and crushing amount of frustration that the last spell Justin had cast had been a _Tempus_ , a simple and fast enough spell to cast that it in no way alleviated any of Harry's growing suspicions.

"Where were you, Justin?" Harry asked, handing the wand back over. "We found Neville in the conservatory, but you weren't in there."

"What do you mean?" he asked, sounding confused. "Of course I was in there."

"No," Harry corrected, crossing his arms, "you weren't. Neville went in the other room to look for you and you weren't there."

"Well, of course not," Justin responded, appearing nonplussed. "I had gone up to the second level of the main room."

"And you didn't hear us below you?" Harry asked skeptically.

"I heard someone speaking," Justin shrugged, "but I figured it was just Neville casting spells, trying to find a way out. I didn't know there was a conversation happening. That room is really tall you know."

"Neville said you left for a while," Harry continued, wondering if the man was telling the truth or not; he had no idea what to think. "He said that he tried to go with you but you insisted he stay behind."

"Well, yeah," Justin looked bewildered, "because I just needed to run to the loo. Bit embarrassing to have to drag another bloke to the toilet with you, isn't it? What's he supposed to do? Stand in there with me? Sit outside and listen? And then it took a while to find one—a toilet, I mean, not a bloke—and I got a bit turned around when I came back out. Are you—" his eyes flicked between Harry, Ron, and Hermione, "are you saying that you think I'm the one responsible?"

"Just wondering where you were," Harry answered smoothly. "I think you should go let Neville know you're all right before he gets any search parties organized."

"Right," Justin frowned at him, "yeah, okay." Without another word, he turned and headed toward the door Malfoy pointed at, opening it and glancing back at Harry one last time before disappearing into the room.

"Do you really think he's the one responsible?" Malfoy asked in a low voice, still seated in the chair Hermione had Conjured for him.

Harry sighed. "Honestly? I have no idea. All we have so far are suspicions. We don't even have enough evidence to be considered circumstantial, it's all just guesswork at this point. But I don't like the fact that he went off on his own, or the fact that Neville couldn't find him in the conservatory. I definitely didn't hear anybody walking around above us in there. And he was close by for the first two murders and conveniently missing during the third. He was the last one to join us in the ballroom last night, even though we have no idea what time he actually arrived. But he wasn't present for the dinner, which was most likely when the kitchen staff you hired were murdered." Harry sighed again. "All we can do is continue keeping an eye on him. We'll warn Neville to keep a close watch and try to make sure they're always around other people; even if we don't have concrete proof of anything, I don't want anyone going off alone with him."

"All right," Hermione nodded. "I'll speak to Neville about it."

The sound of raised voices reached their ears. "Shit," Ron sighed, "we better get in there before those idiots tear each other apart. What the fuck do you think they're arguing over now?"

"Guess we'll find out," Harry said heavily, turning to face the parlor. The voices grew louder as they neared the room, all of them seeming to sigh as one before Ron opened the door. Half the group was seated, appearing defeated and subdued, and the other half was on their feet, all glaring at one another and shouting, but everyone quieted down the moment the three Gryffindors stepped into the room.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, one eyebrow raised as he looked around at everyone.

"Boot is dead, isn't he?" Zacharias demanded, eyes flashing as he stepped forward, and Harry wondered when Hermione and Ron's group had found Smith and Entwhistle.

Trading a look with Ron and Hermione, Harry folded his arms and turned back to the angry man. "Yes," he confirmed grimly. "Terry is dead. We found him in the lounge." At the words, a layer of tense silence fell over the room like a thick velvet curtain, everyone looking at Harry in panic.

"It was _him!"_ Zacharias spat furiously, jabbing a finger in Malfoy's direction. "We need to lock him up before he does it again! Someone grab him, get his wand! We need to—"

"You won't touch him," Harry said coldly, shifting his weight to stand in front of Malfoy, and he could practically feel Malfoy's tangible surprise at the move.

"You're fucking blind, Potter, if you think he's not the one doing all this," Smith fumed, glaring over Harry's shoulder at Malfoy. "He disappeared after lunch and this is the first time any of us have seen him since! Why are you protecting him when it couldn't be any more obvious who's killing everyone off?!"

"He was with me the entire time," Harry said in a hard voice, matching Smith's glare with one of his own. "Unlike _you_ , who vanished right before Terry was reported missing. We have no idea where _you_ were, but I can promise you that Draco hasn't been out of my sight once. So I'll tell you one more time, Smith, before I lose my patience—back off."

The two men glowered at one another for long moments before Smith finally shifted his weight to his back foot, looking away and muttering something beneath his breath.

"What was that, Smith?" Ron asked loudly, staring at the blond as though he would like nothing more than to hex him. "We didn't quite catch that."

Smith turned his glare onto Ron but wisely chose to say nothing.

"Is Terry really dead?"

At the question, everyone's attention snapped onto Padma, who had tears running down her face. Anthony moved to sit beside her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders in comfort, although Harry could see his own lip trembling.

"I'm sorry," Harry offered, knowing it was a hollow, useless platitude that did nothing to comfort in the face of grief; he had heard the two words often enough in his life to know how empty they really were, and how little it actually helped anything to hear them.

Turning to Anthony, she buried her face in his chest, weeping softly. Parvati stared at her sister, tears streaming down her own cheeks as she laid one hand against Padma's arm. Anthony wrapped his other arm around Padma, stroking her dark hair as his own eyes filled with tears. Michael Corner sank down onto the floor near the wall, face blank as he gazed at nothing.

"How could someone do this to Terry?" Lisa sobbed, looking desperately around the room with red eyes. "Who could be horrible enough to do this to him? Terry was so nice…he never hurt anybody. I've never even seen him angry."

"He used to help me with my Transfiguration homework," Padma wept, staining Anthony's robes with her tears as she clutched at the fabric with her fingers. "We used to quiz each other for tests. I don't understand this!"

"Terry was the first person I ever played Quidditch with," Anthony said, voice thick. "He was the first person I ever went to Hogsmeade with. Remember, Michael?" he released a shaky laugh. "Our first trip to the village? Terry took one look at Madam Rosmerta and turned bright red. He couldn't even get the drinks order out, he was stammering so bad." A loud sob suddenly tore from Anthony's throat, his arms tightening around Padma as he buried his face in her hair. "He can't be dead," he whispered, shaking his head frantically as Padma cried harder.

The sight made Harry's own eyes burn in sympathy and he turned away, feeling uncomfortable and raw at the sight of another person's grief. He had never been particularly close with Terry, but he remembered him from the DA and had certainly liked the boy well enough. He remembered Terry being helpful and patient with the others, moving through the spells quickly but always willing to help the others catch up.

"Do you remember seventh year?" Neville asked, eyes shining with emotion. "When he burst into the Great Hall during dinner one day out of nowhere and started shouting about Harry, Ron, and Hermione breaking into Gringotts and escaping on a stolen dragon and half the hall started cheering? I thought the Carrows were going to explode, they were so angry."

Michael snorted softly. "God, did he get it bad for that one," he murmured, eyes glassy and distant. "I remember taking him to the Hospital Wing afterwards and him saying he would have done it again in a heartbeat."

Padma sobbed harder, Anthony gently rocking her in place as tears dripped down his cheeks to land in the black strands of her hair. "He was our friend," she wept, "he was never unkind to anyone, he didn't have a single enemy. Who would want to do this to him?"

"They won't get away with it," Anthony said in a low voice, tears still flowing from two hardened eyes. "Whoever it was, they won't get away with it."

Glancing over to Justin, Harry noted the way the man held himself stiffly, eyes fixed on the floor and face expressionless, and he wondered what the Hufflepuff was thinking.

"So," Smith said, speaking over the sobs still echoing around the room, "that makes one Hufflepuff and two Ravenclaws now dead. Anybody else notice how none of the Slytherins have been killed yet? Or the fact that they're not even here?" He fixed Malfoy with a fierce glare. "They could have been anywhere this entire time. I think we all already know who killed Terry. And he probably never even saw it coming, because the three of you," he swung his glare between Harry, Ron, and Hermione, "keep defending them at every fucking turn! You lot are the reason he's dead! They probably didn't even have to sneak up on him! They probably just walked right up to him and he never thought a fucking thing about it, since the _Chosen One_ ," he sneered the two words, "and his pals have decided the Slytherins are innocent and it's the rest of us who are the guilty ones. Anyone who's stupid enough to trust them is an idiot. Boot should have been smart enough to have his guard up around them and this wouldn't have happened. He should've known better than to ever—" a sudden violet streak of light hit Smith and he cried out in pain, looking automatically to the three Gryffindors, but it was Michael Corner who rose slowly to his feet.

"You shut your fucking mouth, Smith," he growled, brandishing his wand threateningly. "Nobody wants to hear the sound of your whiny voice or any of the stupid shit you always spout. If you say _one more goddamn word_ about Terry, I'll hex your entire fucking tongue from your mouth, do you understand me?"

Smith's eyes widened at the threat, glancing toward the Aurors in the room as though waiting for them to come to his defense. They were all silent.

" _Do you understand me?_ " Michael repeated, voice as hard as granite.

Smith glared down at the floor. "Yes," he said tightly, "I understand."

"Good," Michael snarled, wand still raised. "Now apologize to Padma for upsetting her even more, you fucking insensitive arsehole."

At Smith's hesitation, Michael jabbed his wand in his direction, spitting out several colored sparks at the blond, who instantly shrank away.

"Sorry," he muttered down to the rug, flinching when Michael jabbed his wand again. "Sorry, Padma," he said louder, eyes flicking up to her.

She said nothing, still crying into Anthony's shirt. Michael glared at Zacharias for several more seconds before slowly lowering his wand and walking over to sink down next to Anthony on the sofa. Harry glanced over to Stephen, who was sitting ashen faced in the corner, not looking at any of them.

"This is my fault," he murmured, sounding hollow. "It's my fault he's dead. I was meant to be his partner and I didn't stop this. He should never have been left on his own. I don't even know what happened, he just disappeared."

"We'll find whoever did this," Michael vowed in a low voice, reaching over Anthony to squeeze Padma's arm. "We'll find them, Stephen."

"I'm sorry," Stephen whispered, tucking his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. "I'm so sorry. I left him alone. I left him all alone and now he's gone." A single tear slid down his cheek. "I'm sorry."

Still sobbing, Lisa crossed the room to kneel next to Stephen, enfolding him in an embrace. Silently, he turned his face into her shoulder, allowing himself to be held.

"You can come be with us, Stephen," she said in a trembling voice, "you can be with me and Susan. And nobody will be left on their own again, I promise."

"Can we…do something for them?" Parvati sniffed, tears still streaming down her cheeks. "Hannah, Mandy, and Terry, I mean. Can we…do something?"

"You mean like a memorial service?" Hermione asked gently, and Padma wept harder at the question. Anthony's eyes were clenched shut, face twisted in pained emotion, looking as though it hurt just to breathe, and Harry understood the feeling. He was all too familiar with the feeling grief gave a person, as though they had somehow swallowed a thousand rose stems and were trying to breathe through lungs now filled with thorns, sharp thorns like barbed daggers that slowly tore a person to pieces from the inside out. It was a feeling he could not stand to see in another person; grief was a feeling he was far too familiar with; a feeling he understood better than any other emotion—if there was one thing Harry was well-acquainted with by now, it was grief.

"Padma?" Parvati asked softly, stroking her sister's hair from her face. "Is that something you would like?"

Padma nodded jerkily, still refusing to let go of Anthony, who held her even tighter.

"Okay," Hermione nodded, keeping her voice gentle. "Tonight then, we'll hold a memorial service for the three of them. In the meantime, however, I've sealed the lounge,"—a loud cry tore from Padma's throat as Anthony clenched his eyes shut even harder—"and I'm asking that nobody go near it. Until the Aurors can get here and forensics can examine the bodies, I don't want anything contaminating the evidence."

Both Padma and Lisa wailed harder at her words, and Hermione's face twisted apologetically. "We'll also try to find a larger and more appropriate room to move to," she continued, "because I would like to start keeping closer track of where everyone is at all times, and the easiest way to do that is to remain as a group. I would also like to speak to everyone and get a more solid idea of where everybody was at the time of Terry's murder. Malfoy," she turned to face the blond, who startled at the sound of his name. "Will you and Harry go get the other Slytherins, please, and bring them down here?" Although she had said it in the form of a question, Harry knew it was not a suggestion.

"Yes," Malfoy nodded, slanting Harry a glance. "I know where they are, so it won't take long."

"All right," Hermione nodded. "While the two of you are doing that, I'm going to start speaking with everybody individually. This is not an interrogation, I'm simply trying to establish where everybody was at the time of Terry's disappearance. Ron will check wands while I do that, and Neville," his attention snapped onto her, "I'm putting you in charge of keeping the peace in this room." He nodded once in agreement. "Harry, Draco," she turned to the two of them, "hurry back. And be careful."

"Right," Harry agreed, turning to Malfoy and stepping around him to pull the door open for the blond, who shot Harry a puzzled look as though nobody had ever held a door open for him before and he was not sure how to deal with it.

Following after the blond, Harry allowed the door to click shut behind himself, falling into step beside Malfoy, who slanted him a look out of the corner of his eye.

"So," Harry began, "where are the others then?"

Malfoy raised one eyebrow at him. "Where they've been since last night. Come, Potter." He began up the enormous sweeping staircase leading to the upper level, the marble railing feeling like ice beneath Harry's hand as he trailed after the other man.

"Where are we going, Malfoy?" he wondered, curious about where they were headed. He had only ever seen the ground floor of the Manor—he had never been up to the first floor before. He had never even stepped foot on the staircase before.

Malfoy said nothing, waiting until they had reached the landing before turning to give Harry a complicated look. "We're going to my bedroom, Potter. Come."

And Harry had no idea why those words sent a shiver of excitement racing through him.

**TBC**


	5. Sympathy Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_"Though sympathy alone can't alter facts, it can help to make them more bearable."_ **
> 
> —Bram Stoker, _Dracula_

"Can I ask you a question?" Malfoy asked carefully, glancing at Harry out of the corner of his eye as they strode down the corridor, and Harry nodded warily. What did the man want to know? "What happened back there?" the blond gestured in the direction they had just come from. "Downstairs, in that hallway. I don't want to say that you panicked, but you panicked, Potter."

"Yeah," Harry mumbled an agreement, feeling shame and embarrassment prickle over him uncomfortably. If he was being honest, he had no idea where the anxiety had come from, only that it had snuck up on him without warning and seized him fiercely between two choking fists of cold fear; it had not been something he had been expecting. "I'm not really sure if I can explain it…" He hoped that Malfoy would be willing to accept that as an answer and drop the subject.

But of course, when had Malfoy ever willingly gone along with Harry's wishes?

"Potter," Malfoy frowned, reaching out to pull Harry to a stop. "I'm trying to understand you. We need to be able to rely on one another. My life is more or less in your hands now, as yours is in mine, and we need to start at least trying to create a foundation for trust to be built on if we want to make it out of here alive. So please, I don't care if it doesn't make sense, I want to know what happened. What was it about that hallway that made you panic?"

"You'll just make fun of me," the brunet muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn't lying when he said he did not know how to explain it—they were in a shadowed hallway now and it was not having nearly the same paralyzing effect it had had on Harry downstairs. But this hallway felt different for some reason, less sinister perhaps, less cognizant. Harry had felt as though something had been reaching out for him in the darkness, using shadows and obscurity to stretch its clawed fingers closer and closer until it was close enough to slash him into pieces—it had felt as if someone had been watching him. But how? All of the doors in the corridor had been closed; there had been none left propped ajar for any threatening faces to peer through, no gaps through which to peek malevolent eyes. So where had Harry's fear come from?

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Do you really think I would choose such a time as this to mock you? And especially over what is clearly a very serious ordeal from your past? I just want to know," he said quietly, dropping his gaze. "I just want to understand. The way you looked down there, Potter…" he paused to shiver at the memory. "I'd be lying if I said it hadn't scared me. You looked as if you were struggling just to breathe, I thought you were about to faint."

Averting his gaze, Harry nodded, remembering the choking, strangled feel of the air, the way his lungs had refused to draw breath, leaving him nearly gasping.

"Please, Harry," Malfoy whispered, stepping closer. "Just tell me, whatever it is."

At the words, Harry made the mistake of glancing up, directly into Malfoy's eyes. The grey of his eyes was piercing and molten, like storm clouds melting beneath the rays of the sun—and he found that he could not refuse the plea in those eyes.

"All right," he breathed, feeling his palms dampen with sweat. "I—" he paused to take a deep breath, wondering if he was really about to admit his horrid past to another person, "I didn't have a happy childhood, Malfoy." As he spoke, he dropped his gaze back down to the floor, unable to stare into Malfoy's eyes for longer than a second or two at a time. "After my parents were killed, I was pretty much handed straight over to my aunt and uncle. Dumbledore dropped me off on their doorstep one night with nothing more than a note and a blanket to keep me warm." At that, Malfoy looked shocked, mouth twisting in sympathy, and Harry could not stand to see it. "My aunt and uncle…" he took another deep breath, "they didn't like me. Actually, that's an understatement. Even saying that they hated me is an understatement. They loathed me before they had ever even met me."

"How does one loathe a baby?" Malfoy whispered, looking as though he wanted to reach out to Harry but was stopping himself, and Harry was grateful that he was restraining himself from doing so. Talking about his childhood was difficult enough without the added distraction of physical touch; it was too foreign a concept for him to ever find truly comforting whilst upset.

Harry gave him a sad smile. "They hate magic. Anything that's not normal and boring and mundane in their world, they hate. I didn't find that out 'til later, though, so I never knew as a child why they hated me so much. I always thought I must have done something to earn their hatred because my very first memories of my aunt and uncle are of them telling me how awful and undeserving I am. They thought that if they raised me without ever knowing the truth about who my parents were or who I was, they would be able to quash the magic right out of me."

"But that's impossible," Malfoy said, sounding appalled. "You can't simply wish away magic or alter the way a person is born."

"Yeah, but they hoped they could," Harry shrugged. "So I grew up not knowing a thing about my parents, or our world, or anything to do with magic. They couldn't even stand hearing that word in the house." He slanted Malfoy another sad smile. "I remember one time when I was seven or eight, my uncle beat me for making the mistake of telling them that I wanted to become a magician when I was older."

"A magician?" Malfoy's nose wrinkled as he tilted his head in confusion.

"A Muggle illusionist," Harry explained, staring at the far wall. "They're Muggles who figure out ways to make it seem like they have magic, sort of by tricking people into believing they can do things like levitate or appear across the room in the blink of an eye or survive being stabbed by swords and stuff. But the tricks are always so incredible and so clever and I had always been so fascinated with them when I was younger, the way they seemed able to just change whatever they wanted about the world around them...just like that, in the blink of an eye…"

"Your uncle beat you?" Malfoy took a step closer, and Harry felt simultaneous urges warring within him to both step away and remain right where he was.

"Sometimes," he shrugged. "Not very often." Beatings were far from the worst thing Uncle Vernon had done to him. "But he preferred to punish me by doing things like withholding meals or manual labor. His favorite punishment, though…" Harry trailed off, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the ground. God, he hated talking about his childhood, something he rarely ever did. He had barely told Ron and Hermione anything about it, and yet here he was, confessing things to Draco Malfoy that he had never even told his closest friends. What was it about Malfoy expressing kindness and genuine concern that made Harry want to open his mouth and spill all his long-kept secrets?

"What?" Malfoy breathed, not moving a muscle as he waited for Harry to finish his sentence.

Harry turned his body away, speaking into the distance and trying to pretend he was simply talking out loud to himself. "I didn't have a bedroom until I was eleven," he admitted. "My cousin had two bedrooms, but I was never allowed anywhere near them."

"Where did you sleep?" Malfoy sounded horrified.

Harry took a deep breath. "I was kept in a cupboard. Under the stairs. It had a lock on the outside, and when I would do things like annoy my aunt by asking questions, or look at my uncle too long, or burn the breakfast I was forced to cook or mention anything to do with anything they considered to be abnormal, I was locked in there. Nothing but me and a hundred spiders with nothing to do but sit there in the dark. If I was in there to be punished, my uncle would unscrew the lightbulb first so I couldn't see anything." An involuntary shudder wracked Harry's frame. "I managed to steal a torch once from a supermarket when I was a child but getting batteries for it was tricky. I got caught trying to take some out of one of Dudley's old robot toys and got beat pretty badly for it. I finally managed to get a pair, but I could only use the torch after they had gone to sleep or when they had all left the house after locking me in my cupboard. Sometimes, though, the light just made it worse. In the darkness, I couldn't see a thing and I could at least pretend there were no monsters, even if I could feel them around me. But with the light, it just…I dunno, it made me even more anxious and afraid, for some reason. I just couldn't help feeling like something was about to jump in front of the beam of light at any second, or like I was going to shine it in the corner and see something standing there staring at me." He glanced back to see Malfoy's face as white as a sheet, eyes wide with horror. "To this day I can't stand small spaces. And—I'm not scared of the dark, I'm really not," he turned away again, "but sometimes…I used to have nightmares all the time as a child, about things coming for me out of the shadows, monsters hiding in the darkness, waiting to jump out and snatch me away…there were some dreams where it would just be me sitting in a dark room, crying…and then I would hear something breathing in the darkness…moving closer and closer, until…" Harry trailed off, unsure what else to say.

A warm hand settled on his arm and his head automatically snapped toward it in surprise. "And the hallway reminded you of that?" Malfoy asked softly, eyes flooded with a thousand different heavy emotions.

"Yes," Harry said simply. "I just—I don't know why, things like that don't normally ever happen, I hardly ever think about my cupboard anymore, but…the shadows in that hallway…they just—they—I-I-I don't—"

"It's okay," Malfoy said quietly. "It's okay, Harry, you don't need to try to explain any further."

With a nod, they both fell silent, Malfoy's hand still a warm weight on Harry's arm, and he was surprised at how nice the touch felt.

"I'm sorry," Malfoy finally said, and Harry stared at him in surprise.

"For what?" he asked, wondering if Malfoy was simply offering him the same empty comfort he himself had offered to Padma earlier in the parlour.

"For my house, I suppose," Malfoy said with a glance around the hall. "I know how this house appears; I know that it is not a comforting place to be, especially when fear is already existent within its walls. I know what it's like to feel like the shadows here are watching you." Harry stared at him. "And I'm sorry for your childhood and all the awful things you just told me." He dropped his gaze down to his shoes. "And I'm sorry for pressing you to speak about such a horrible time. It was none of my business."

"It's fine," Harry tried to shrug casually but knew the jerky movement had been nowhere near casual. "None of those things are your fault, Malfoy."

"And I wanted to say thank you," Malfoy whispered, shifting his weight closer, and Harry felt his breath catch. Thank him? Thank him for what?

"Thank me for what?" he wondered aloud. What was Malfoy possibly thanking him for?

"For speaking up for me back there. For defending me from Smith."

"I know you're not the one behind this, Malfoy," Harry told him in a quiet voice.

Malfoy spent several moments studying him, grey eyes alight with an intensity that Harry was not sure he had ever really been looked at with before. It felt as if Malfoy was trying to stare right through his skin, pierce right through his bones and slice through his veins with his gaze until all of Harry's secrets came bleeding out to pool black and sticky atop the cold marble floor beneath his feet. "I'm really glad you're here, Potter," he said finally, breaking the crackling silence that had been building between them like a static charge.

"Well," Harry attempted a grin, although it felt a bit shaky, "I personally wish we were somewhere else a bit more fun, but…" the weak grin slid off his face as he continued, "I like knowing that the two of us can actually get along. Who would have ever guessed, right?"

Malfoy smiled, the corners of his lips trembling. "Right. You definitely lucked out when it came to partners."

Harry wanted to respond with something casual and light, something teasing and airy that would help relieve the tension still sparking between them, but he found himself responding far more seriously than he had been intending. "Yeah, Malfoy," he murmured, staring Malfoy in the eye as he spoke. "I think I did."

Malfoy stared at him with a long, complicated look, one that Harry had no idea how to even begin trying to understand. The other man tilted his head, looking as though he was attempting to calculate impossible maths equations in his mind.

"Come on, then," he finally said, face expressionless, but there was something almost scorching hot about his stare that made Harry want to step closer.

"All right," he croaked, clearing his throat as he felt his cheeks heat. "Show me your bedroom." The moment the words left his lips, he flushed even darker, stealing a glance at Malfoy to find the blond pink-cheeked but smirking. "You know what I mean," Harry mumbled, staring down the shadowed corridor rather than look at the man.

"I can only take things to mean how they sound," Malfoy said slyly.

Unsure how to respond, Harry decided that perhaps silence would be best. But of course, Malfoy could not simply just let it go, which hardly surprised Harry—the man had made it his mission since the age of eleven to try to humiliate Harry as much as possible.

"So, Potter," the blond grinned, "am I the very first Slytherin you've ever said those words to?"

Harry blushed but decided to play dumb. Malfoy could only embarrass him if Harry let him, right? He wasn't so sure, but it sounded nearly convincing enough for him to be able to almost delude himself into believing it. "Hardly," he pretended to scoff, "I've asked plenty of people if they know what I mean before. I ask complex questions, Malfoy, with many layers and many different interpretations."

Malfoy slanted him another smirk. "Oh yes, Potter, the oceans of complexity don't get any deeper than you, do they? You are most certainly the very bottom of their extensive, unexplored depths."

"Exactly," Harry nodded, face still burning. "Out of the two of us, I'm definitely the bottom."

Turning to face the brunet, Malfoy stared at him for a moment in surprise before he started to laugh, loudly and wildly, reaching out to grasp Harry's shoulder just to keep himself upright from the force of his laughter.

"You know what I mean!" Harry huffed, lips twitching reluctantly at Malfoy's continued laughter. God, would it ever be possible for him not to embarrass himself in front of Draco Malfoy? Why did Harry's composure always seem to fly right out the window when the other man was around?

"Again, Potter," Draco chuckled, finally seeming to calm, "I only know what you said. And I certainly was not planning on arguing the statement."

What the hell did _that_ mean? Harry's nose wrinkled in confusion as he lightly shoved the blond away. "Sod off, you dirty-minded prat," he said, struggling to keep the small smile off his face. "You are obviously looking at that statement wrong if you're taking it the way I know you are because, between the two of us, I would _definitely_ be the top!"

Malfoy glanced up at him again, staring at Harry in silence before erupting into laugher once more, clutching at Harry's shirt with both hands to keep himself from dropping to his knees in mirth. Harry thought about stepping away and letting Malfoy fall to the hard ground, but the man was holding his shirt too damn tightly.

"Oh, Potter," Malfoy gasped, laughter still tearing from his throat, "you are too entertaining."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry muttered, feeling as though his face was on fire and wondering how the rest of his body was not consumed in flames just from the force of his blush.

With effort, Malfoy straightened, finally releasing Harry's shirt to pat him on the shoulder. "You deciding that you're the top is also a statement I won't argue, you manly Auror, you," he grinned. "Luckily for you, I don't mind which you prefer," he paused to rake a gaze up and down Harry's body, the blond still smiling but suddenly looking less amused. "I'm very flexible that way…" The smirk was suddenly back as he continued speaking, "In all ways, actually."

The words spread even more heat through Harry's body, sending fire racing through his veins and across his flesh until he was certain that the blush had not only covered every inch of his skin but also consumed his entire insides as well. Was Malfoy saying that…what did he… _what?_

"I'll be honest, though," Malfoy said, still not stepping away, and Harry spared a second to wonder why he wasn't taking the opportunity to step away now that Malfoy had finally released his shirt. "I wouldn't have thought you would know enough about topping or bottoming to be able to use such terms in conversation, or well enough to be embarrassed by them. Those are not straight terms, you realize."

The blush on his face was even hotter than before. What was Malfoy trying to imply? "Ron's brother Charlie is gay," Harry mumbled, staring down at his shoes as though they were the most fascinating things in the entire world. How had they even started talking about such humiliating topics? "And—"

"Are you about to tell me that you've shagged Weasley's brother?" Malfoy interrupted, nose wrinkled in disgust. "It wasn't enough to shag just the sister, you have to move through the entire ginger horde? Because if that's your goal, it might just take the rest of your life to accomplish, Potter, their numbers surely must be up in the thousands by now."

"No!" Harry glared at the man. "Of course not! Don't be crass! I just meant that—Charlie is…" he dropped his gaze back down to his feet, "he's…a bit too descriptive in the sorts of things he gets up to, that's all. He's…an enthusiastic bloke. And a very big fan of what I can only assume is the proper terminology for…you know…the things he gets up to."

"Ah, right," Malfoy said, still sounding smugly knowing, "the _descriptions_ , I see."

Sighing, Harry stepped around him and continued walking in the direction they had been headed in, even though he had no idea where they were going.

"Is the dragon tamer really gay, though?" Malfoy asked as he caught up to him, and Harry turned to him in surprise.

"You know which one Charlie is?"

"Of course," Malfoy answered smoothly. "He was a hard man to overlook at the Triwizard Tournament." The words made Harry frown as Malfoy continued speaking, "I never knew that he was gay, though. That's…interesting." His eyes gleamed with something that made Harry's stomach tighten as his earlier glare fixed itself once more on the floor under his feet. He wasn't sure why the idea of Malfoy finding Charlie's orientation so _interesting_ bothered him so damn much, but it did. _The two of them would never even work out as a couple,_ he thought vehemently. Unless, of course, a relationship wasn't what Malfoy was after _._

But the thought of Malfoy wanting nothing more than a quick shag from Charlie was somehow even worse than the thought of him having actual feelings for the older man, and Harry had no idea why he was so bothered at both possibilities.

"So, then," Malfoy said, in a casual voice that made Harry instantly wary, "am I the first man you've ever demanded to have taken to the bedroom?"

_I fucking hate him_ , Harry decided, feeling the searing blush from earlier return with a vengeance. "It's not for anything like that," he said stiffly.

"Yes, of course not," Malfoy smirked. "I merely mention it because you were the first one to bring up the topics of sexual terminology and homosexual men after literally saying the words 'show me your bedroom',"—Harry's face was surely only seconds away from bursting into flames—"so I think I can hardly be blamed for then wondering if I'm the first man you've tried this sort of pull with."

"I'm not trying to pull!" Harry snapped. "I was just—making conversation, or whatever! You're the one with the dirty mind who has to put a perverted spin on everything I say!"

Instantly, Malfoy sobered, straightening and fixing Harry with a cold gaze, all traces of amusement now gone. "Perverted. Right. I apologize, Potter, for making you feel so obviously uncomfortable." Turning his back on Harry, he began to stride away, and Harry quickly hurried after him, feeling his stomach squirm with guilt.

"No, Malfoy, that's not what I meant!" Catching up, he reached out to pull Malfoy to a stop, wondering how long this trip of theirs was going to take if they continued halting their crawling progression every two minutes.

"Save your breath, you don't need to explain." Malfoy stared into the distance, and Harry was unsure of what to do. Why the hell had he used the word _perverted_ —he hadn't meant to offend the man!

"No, Malfoy," Harry stepped closer, refusing to allow the blond to simply ignore him, "that's not what I meant. Whatever you're thinking I meant just now is _not_ what I actually meant!"

"It's fine," Malfoy muttered. "It's nothing I haven't heard before, I can assure you."

"I once snogged a bloke," Harry blurted, regretting his confession the moment it tripped its way free from his mouth; Malfoy's head snapped in his direction, eyes wide with surprise. "At Charlie's birthday party last year. It was at some gay Muggle nightclub in London that I'd never heard of before, and we all got sloshed out of our minds, and I ended up…" Lord, if Harry had thought he was blushing before, it was nothing compared to what his face was doing now, "I ended up snogging some bloke in the corner of the club for half the night." It hadn't been until the next morning that the full implications of what had happened had hit Harry, but it hadn't been until the day after that—when he was finally healed enough from his hangover to be able to once more think clearly—that he started to truly wonder what it had all meant for both his identity and his orientation. What did it mean? Was it a simple case of getting too pissed, a one-time thing, or was it going to happen again? It didn't even take the full day for Harry to decide that he didn't like the questions and he didn't like feeling confused and so he would simply choose to never think about it again, a plan that had been going more or less brilliantly until Malfoy decided to tease him and make him feel guilty by getting offended enough to force the sticky confessions up Harry's throat.

"And what else happened?" Malfoy asked in a low voice.

"What else?" Harry tilted his head in confusion. "That was it. He's the only man I've ever kissed."

"Yes," Malfoy shifted a fraction closer, "but I can't imagine that he would have left it at just kissing. Surely even Muggles are not that daft. Or that blind." As he spoke, his eyes swept up and down Harry in a way that made the brunet shiver. What was Malfoy doing? What was Malfoy saying? Why was he looking at Harry like that? As though…but no, Harry shook his head internally. Surely Malfoy wasn't making some sort of pass at him, was he?

"Well, h-he kept trying to drag me to the toilets," Harry stammered, wincing at the words.

"And why didn't you go?" Malfoy asked with a curious lilt, sounding genuinely interested in the answer.

"Because, I-I dunno," Harry shrugged in humiliation, wondering why he could not get rid of that damn stammer; why was he so nervous? How was Malfoy able to get Harry's most secret confessions out of him so easily with little more than a wounded look and a handful of words?

"I think I understand," the blond said softly, shifting even closer. "You didn't want just some quick shag with a stranger in a public toilet. I believe I'm correct in assuming that you've never actually had a one-off in your life, Potter, have you?"

Harry sucked in a surprised breath, at both the question and Malfoy's proximity, wondering how he could answer such a question without embarrassing himself, before wondering in the very next second why it should be some sort of shame to have never shagged a stranger before. He felt so confused.

Slowly, he shook his head. "I've never been interested in one-off's, Malfoy." He kept his voice quiet, deciding that the first chance he got to turn the tables, it was going to be Malfoy's turn to confess every embarrassing detail about his personal life; why was Harry the only one confessing difficult things?

"It would have surprised me if you were," Malfoy admitted, eyes roving over Harry's face. "You certainly do not seem the type for such things, Harry."

"Type?" Harry's brow furrowed. "Am I a certain type?" What did that mean? What were the other types?

Malfoy smiled. "I just mean that you are merely someone who prefers to know a person before engaging in anything as intimate as sex. You're far too much of a romantic for anything else, aren't you?"

The word surprised Harry. "Am I?" Was he? Was that the way he came across? Harry didn't think of himself as particularly romantic—in fact, he thought it was the opposite; he was far less romantic a person than he thought he should be, considering he had never yet had a successful relationship. Malfoy should just ask Ginny or Cho; either of them would confirm that Harry was not in any sense a romantic person. Both dates with Cho had ended in her storming out on him, for god's sake.

"I'm assuming you don't see yourself that way," Malfoy mused, still smiling so softly. "But I know you, Potter. You like to feel connected to others; you would never consider making yourself so vulnerable by being intimate with anyone you did not feel attached to, because anything else would not feel emotionally safe for you, am I correct?"

Eyes wide, Harry nodded. Everything Malfoy was saying was making sense, even though Harry had never consciously considered any of it before in actual words. But it was true—Harry liked to feel connected, he liked to know he mattered to the ones he cared about, and he could not even really consider the idea of sharing pieces of himself with people he did not have those connections with.

"I can respect that, Potter," Malfoy murmured, shifting his weight even closer, and Harry felt light-headed. "I admire that in a person, frankly."

"What…" Harry swallowed, throat unexplainably dry, "what type are you then?"

Malfoy's smile twisted painfully, becoming far more of a grimace. "Someone who doesn't seem able to connect in such ways with others, no matter how much I try or how much I long to be able to." The statement made Harry's heart ache in his chest—it was one of the loneliest things he had ever heard.

"So…" he struggled to speak, "are you saying you're a one-off type of person then?"

At the question, Malfoy turned his head away, but not before Harry caught the look of sadness that flashed across his face. "Sometimes people only want certain things from you, and that's all they'll ever be willing to take. People see others as the type of person they expect them to be, and because of those preconceptions…" he sighed wearily, "You ask the question as though I have a choice in the type of person I am in regards to my interpersonal relationships, Potter. But I don't. People tend to only want one thing from me, and I can assure you that it is not a romantic connection."

"Malfoy…" Harry didn't know what to say. Every word that left Malfoy's mouth was only serving to make Harry more and more sad for him, despite knowing that Malfoy would never want pity from anyone, least of all Harry. But knowing that didn't make the desire to hug and comfort Malfoy any less strong, which might just be one of the strangest desires Harry had ever felt.

"I just want to be seen as a real person, Potter," he whispered, turning back to face Harry. "That's why we threw this party, that's why we invited everyone. I know what everyone thinks of me, how everyone in our world sees me, and I was hoping that…I was hoping that if I was somehow able to mend fences with others from our year, the ones we attended school with for the longest amount of time, the ones we saw every single day and the ones who have the worst idea of me in their minds because they're the ones who actually knew me as I was…" he lowered his gaze, "the ones who have actual reason to hate me more than most others because of the way I was in school…" Sighing again, he took a step away from Harry and turned to stare down the corridor. "I was hoping that, if I could do that, if I could start there and somehow fix how you all saw me, then maybe…one day…"

"What, Malfoy?" Harry breathed, desperately needing the man to finish what he had been trying to say.

"Then…" Malfoy half-turned to slant him a sad look, "maybe one day, the rest of the world could also start to see me as a different person—as a real person, rather than someone to manipulate or someone to hate or someone to borrow money from or someone…" he looked away again with a blush, "someone there just to fuck…" Harry felt heat rise to his cheeks at the final word.

"I want what you want, Potter," Draco continued in a voice so quiet Harry had to step closer to hear. "I want connections. I want to matter. I want someone to look at me like I'm important. Is that selfish of me? Are the other Slytherins and I so wrong to want to once more belong to this world? We're sick of being forced to live on the very edges, pushed to the very outskirts of society; we just want to matter. Is that desire really such a bad thing? We all just want to matter."

But Harry heard what he was not saying— _I want someone to matter to._ "No," Harry answered softly, "of course that's not selfish or wrong of you, Malfoy, because you're right—everybody wants to matter to others. I get it now." Fingers shaking, he reached out one hand to lightly rest against Malfoy's upper arm, and at the touch, Malfoy inhaled sharply. "I get it now, Draco."

Slowly, almost as though he was expecting Harry to have vanished, Malfoy turned to face him, and Harry felt his heart stutter at the raw emotion on Malfoy's face.

"I never thought I would ever tell anybody that," the man whispered, sounding stunned.

One corner of Harry's mouth lifted in a smile. "I've told you things in the last few minutes that I've never told anyone else, either."

"I'm glad you told me," Malfoy said in a voice that trembled, matching the tremble in Harry's insides.

"I'm glad I told you too," he returned quietly, surprised to find that he really was glad to have been able to confide in someone. It had been difficult, but at the same time it had felt so nice to tell another person, and the way Malfoy had listened…Harry was amazed to realize that he really liked when Malfoy listened to him. He really liked being able to discuss such personal things with someone such as Draco Malfoy and have the man listen so sincerely to him. And he really liked listening to Malfoy in return—he liked finding out new things about the man and discovering hidden depths Harry had never before seen in the blond. "And I'm glad that you told me as well."

Malfoy didn't respond, remaining perfectly still as they gazed at one another in growing silence.

But the tension was quickly becoming far too much; the stillness felt so heavy, so sticky, almost as if Harry would have to scrape it from his skin with a wire brush just to rid himself of its clinging fingers.

Stepping away, he attempted a shaky laugh as he raised a trembling hand to rake through his hair. "I guess all these secret confessions mean we're friends now, then, yeah?"

"Yes," Malfoy slanted him an almost shy smile, one that made Harry's heart flip over in his chest, "I suppose we are, Potter."

"Harry," he corrected softly, no longer liking the sound of his surname on the man's lips. "We're not in school anymore, Draco. And you wanted fresh starts, so…let's start fresh."

Warmth was shining in Malfoy's eyes as he offered Harry a sincere smile. "Harry, then."

"Well, Draco," Harry grinned, liking the way the name rolled off his tongue, "show me your bedroom already. How many times does a man have to ask?"

Malfoy laughed. "As many times as it takes, apparently." With a final lingering look, he turned and began to stride down the corridor, amethyst-robes swirling around his feet. Harry took a second to shake his head to himself with a grin, cheeks still lightly dusted pink, before beginning to follow.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our very first chapter without a single death! Yaay! Buuut maybe also don't expect that to last for very long...The next chapter will be up soon, lovers!


	6. The Excess of Misery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _  
> **"How mutable are our feelings, and how strange is that clinging love we have of life even in the excess of misery!"**  
>  _
> 
> —Mary Shelley, _Frankenstein_

The first thing Harry noticed was the color—or lack of it, really. The walls of Draco's bedroom were the dark color of storm clouds; the wood beneath Harry's feet was black yet somehow reminded him of ice. Curtains the color of ash were tied back from the large windows cut into the walls, offering views of the dusky grey horizon beyond the glass. Gas lamps extended from round brassy sconces every few feet, the yellow light within seeming soft and somehow reticent in a way that Harry had not ever known light could seem. There was a large silver candelabra holding flickering candles sitting atop a dark nightstand next to Malfoy's enormous bed, and Harry couldn't help but stare. It was without a doubt the largest bed Harry had ever seen—huge and imposing, fitted with pale grey sheets and constructed from black wood. The dark posts were thick and twisted, seeming to tower miles above Harry's head and looking to be almost scraping the vaulted ceiling. Ebony drapes hung near the head of the mattress, waiting to be pulled closed, ready to entrap the first unsuspecting person to wander past within the onyx embrace of their midnight-colored arms—just the sight made Harry feel claustrophobic. An enormous mirror hung adjacent to the bed, one that looked far too heavy to even be levitated, let alone lifted, and Harry had no idea how anybody had gotten it all the way up the stairs to be hung. The frame was huge and black, with ebony dragons carved all around the edges, ones that glared and glowered and snapped their fangs, appearing fierce and unfriendly. A colossal bone-white fireplace was crackling with flames against the opposite wall, looking ready to swallow up anyone or anything that was fool enough to step close to its marble-framed warmth. A large jade-black wardrobe stood beside a huge ebony desk; atop its surface was a neat stack of blank parchment next to an inkwell appearing to be made of pure gold. Several expensive-looking quills were perched delicately beside the inkwell, a monochromatic rainbow of various grey and black feathers. A towering bookcase stood beside the desk, and Harry could feel himself itching to go examine the titles, somehow managing to refrain from doing so.

"Draco," a deep voice said, and Harry turned his head in surprise; he had been so busy taking in the room that he had hardly even registered the other Slytherins lounging nearby. Zabini and Parkinson were seated in wine-colored armchairs near the fire, the two of them facing one another across a table the shade of burnt coffee and both focused intently on a marble chess set between them. From what Harry could see, it seemed that Parkinson was winning. Nott was sat on a black leather sofa nearby, watching the game with casual indifference, while Davis sat tucked away in a nearby nook beneath a large window, sitting on ruby-colored cushions as she flipped through a thick leather-bound book.

"What's going on?" Zabini spoke again, eyes flicking between Harry and Malfoy. "What is Potter doing here?"

Harry and Draco exchanged a glance. "How long have the four of you been up here?" Harry asked them, ignoring the questions.

"Since lunch," Parkinson answered, watching impassively as her bishop smashed Zabini's rook to pieces.

"And none of you have left since?" Harry pressed. "You've all been here the entire time together?"

All four Slytherins looked at him, eyes narrowed. "Yes," Nott said in a bored voice. "We're hardly going to go wandering around the house after what Tracey and I found in the cellar, are we? Not to mention the fact that everyone downstairs seems to want all our heads on a stake. Believe me, Potter, if any of us are going anywhere, it's not going to be alone."

"Draco's the only one of us who hasn't been here," Zabini added, frowning as he lost another piece to Parkinson, "but I'm assuming that that's because he's been with you."

"Did something happen?" Davis's soft voice spoke up behind him, and Harry turned to see that she had set down her book and was eyeing him blankly. "Who was it this time?"

Eight pairs of eyes snapped onto Harry, who took a deep breath and shook his head to clear the haunted cobwebs from his mind. "It was Terry Boot," he said in a heavy voice. The Slytherins said nothing, their faces hardly betraying any sort of reaction at all, but Harry noticed the way they had grown still, none of them even appearing to be drawing breath. "He went missing after lunch, so we split into two groups to search for him, and…"

"And what?" Nott demanded. "What does that mean that you just trailed off like that?"

"And we found him," Malfoy finished quietly. "We found him back in the room we had originally set out from."

Parkinson reached out to him in comfort, squeezing his arm once.

"Boot is dead?" Zabini asked, eyes sharp.

Harry nodded. "We don't know what happened or where he disappeared to though."

"What about his partner? Where had he been?" the dark-skinned man continued. "Surely he's the one you should be looking at the closest?"

"We are," Harry said uncomfortably. He did not like that everyone always seemed to be constantly looking to him for the answers to everything; he did not like having to explain that he was just as clueless as the rest of the world.

"Well, he's obviously the guilty one then," Nott drawled. "Unless someone else was the last one to see Boot or be seen with him, it's obviously got to be his partner."

"Cornfoot, wasn't it?" Parkinson wondered, finally dropping her hold on Malfoy's arm.

"Yeah," Harry confirmed, "yeah, it was Stephen."

"So what have you done with Cornfoot then?" Zabini spoke up, leveling Harry with a hard stare. "Tell me he's been locked up somewhere."

"No," Harry sighed heavily. "No, he hasn't been." At the shocked looks of outrage on the other Slytherins' faces, Harry hurried to continue. "He said that Terry vanished while waiting for Stephen to finish washing up. And there were too many of the others missing to be able to confirm beyond a doubt that he was the one responsible for Terry's death. Nearly everybody had wandered off somewhere at the time his disappearance had occurred."

"What about when his _death_ had occurred?" Zabini asked, gaze razor-sharp. "You said that he disappeared but wasn't discovered until later, in the very room you had all left from. Surely it had to then have been one of the ones who were not present for the discovery of his body."

Harry and Draco exchanged another glance. "That's not necessarily true," Harry shrugged. "They could have moved him there right after we left and then joined up with one of the groups immediately after. They could have killed him in the lounge and then moved to another room. That wouldn't have been that difficult since the lounge has three exits. It connects to the entrance hall, the main hall, and the room next to it. Most of the rooms in the main hall are interconnected, so they could have moved quickly through the rooms to get ahead of us. In theory, they could even have had Terry in the very next room and moved him into the lounge immediately after we left it." He shook his head. "We don't have any clear answers."

"Well, surely you must have _someone_ in mind," Parkinson argued, sounding nearly as frustrated as Harry felt. "Surely there must be at least one person that you think more responsible than the others."

"There is," Harry said slowly, unwilling to give them a name. He did not want to incite suspicion or spread panic any more than could be helped. "But I don't know enough at the moment to be able to offer you a name. But…yeah, there is someone."

"And how many of them think that we're the ones responsible?" Nott asked in a bored voice, sounding indifferent to the answer.

Malfoy snorted angrily. "Smith demanded someone seize my wand and restrain me the second I walked into the room," he told them.

"I still don't even know why we invited that sodding cunt," Zabini huffed.

"To prove that we could be inclusive," Parkinson answered, "even if the one we're including is someone we detest."

"More like someone everyone detests," Zabini muttered, and Parkinson slanted him a half-smile.

"Don't worry," Harry said, mustering as much confidence as he was able to, "Smith won't do anything. They can't blame Malfoy because he was with me the entire time. And your alibis are as valid as any of the others."

"Yes," Malfoy said slyly, a sudden gleam to his eye, "you should have seen Potter go all Chosen One on Smith when he started screaming for my head."

Parkinson hummed as she turned back to the chessboard. "Sounds hot."

Harry gaped at her while Zabini rolled his eyes, also directing his attention back to the board before him.

"So what happens now?" Davis wondered, drifting forward to sink down onto the sofa next to Nott.

"We're here to fetch you lot," Harry told them, glancing around. "We moved everybody to the parlor for right now, so we're all going to meet in there and decide what to do as a group."

"And do you think that wise?" Zabini asked distractedly, watching as Parkinson's knight moved to put his king in check. "At least one of the people down there is a murderer. Do you really think it a good move to allow the guilty a voice in the proceedings?"

Harry raised one eyebrow. "Who should be in charge of the decisions then, if not the group?"

Zabini smirked. "I would have thought that would be obvious, Potter." Harry's eyes narrowed in suspicion; was Zabini saying that Harry should be in charge? The man continued speaking. "Other than Abbott, Brocklehurst, and Boot, whom we can all rule out as the killers for obvious reasons, the only other ones outside of ourselves that I would say are innocent are you and your two friends."

"What?" Harry stared. Zabini really didn't think there was any chance at all that Harry, Ron, and Hermione were the ones behind any of the murders? That was…Harry wasn't really sure what it was.

"Don't get me wrong," Zabini continued, "I'm not saying that I trust any of you. But I do trust that none of you are the type to commit murder in cold blood. I mean," he smirked again, "you didn't even kill You-Know-Who, did you? You were face-to-face with the most dangerous wizard in the entire world, a second away from being killed yourself, and all you cast was a _Disarming spell_. We all know it's not you, Potter."

"Right," Harry said finally, unsure what to say. "Well…thanks."

Zabini rolled his eyes. "Whatever the rest of them say about us, we're not idiots."

"He knows," Malfoy said with a quiet smile. "He's an honorary Slytherin now, the man adores us." Parkinson huffed a laugh, turning to raise her eyebrows at Malfoy. "I'm serious," the blond continued, smile widening, "you should have heard him earlier, asking so politely for my friendship." Zabini shook his head in amusement as Harry felt his ears turn red.

"Why do you all act like we have absolutely nothing in common?" Harry asked, wondering what Draco would do if Harry were to 'accidentally' elbow him.

All five of them chuckled as if Harry had made a joke. "A lovely thought, Chosen One," Zabini said, "but not a very realistic one, now, is it? I'd say on the grand scale of things, all five of us are the combined antithesis of the heroic Golden Gryffindor hero."

Harry glared. "I really hate those sorts of titles, you know."

Zabini shrugged. "Just the fact that you have titles such as that, however, shows how little you have in common with us. Our given titles are far less flattering."

Narrowing his eyes, Harry stared at the man with folded arms. "Are you all forgetting when the entire school thought I was the heir of Slytherin? And when Fudge spent a year trying to convince the entire world that I was mad? He tried his hardest to turn every single person in the country against me by making me out to be an attention-hungry lunatic. Don't tell me that I don't know what it's like to be hated and misjudged by everyone or to have unflattering things said about me."

"Point," Zabini allowed, gazing at Harry thoughtfully.

"How many death threats did you receive though?" Nott asked, sounding as though he didn't care one way or another what the answer was.

"Do you lot get death threats?" Harry asked in surprise. The five Slytherins all laughed.

"He is sweet, isn't he, Draco?" Parkinson grinned.

"Hey," Harry protested, "you seem to be forgetting that most of my life was one giant death threat."

"Another excellent point," Zabini said, mouth unmoving but eyes smiling. "I suppose you really are an honorary Slytherin after all, Potter, welcome to our little club."

"I was nearly sorted Slytherin, you know," he said without thinking, surprised when the entire room went quiet. "What?" he wondered, looking around in confusion.

"What did you say?" Malfoy whispered, sounding shocked.

"Oh, I…" Harry flushed, but he wasn't really sure why. "I was nearly sorted Slytherin. The Sorting Hat said I would have been great in Slytherin, but…" Harry trailed off, not wanting to tell them that he had specifically asked to be placed in another House, any other House.

"God, I can't even imagine you in Slytherin," Parkinson said, forehead scrunched. "That sounds…so fucking weird to think about."

Harry shrugged.

"Fuck, Potter," Malfoy said in quiet amusement, staring at him with a soft gleam in his eyes, "we could have been best friends so much earlier if that were the case."

"Best friends?" Harry grinned, wanting to nudge him but unwilling to do so with so large an audience around. "Sure, Malfoy, if you ask politely."

Blaise barked a sharp laugh. "You're actually all right, Potter."

"Well," Nott spoke up, once again sounding bored, and Harry wondered if he had any other emotion other than indifference, "I for one wish you would tell that secret piece of information to the rest of the world. It might make the Slytherin-stigma less of a hostile issue if everyone knew that the Saviour was nearly one of us himself. Why have you kept it so hidden, Potter, if it's the truth?"

Harry stared at him, unsure of how to answer. "Well, I dunno," he finally said, struggling to find words. "It's never really come up. And when I was younger…" he paused before saying, "I guess I really was ashamed to have almost been sorted Slytherin."

"Yes," Nott drawled, "because it's the devil's House and we're all demons for daring to have been placed there as children by outside forces beyond our control."

"Well," Harry began quietly, "all I really knew of Slytherin when I was first sorted was that that was the House that the man who had killed my parents had been in. And I didn't want to be connected to him in any way. I mean, I was already connected to him through my wand, you know? And that already felt like way too much, so…"

"What do you mean?" Davis asked, staring at him in rapt attention. "What did your wand have to do with him?"

"Er," Harry scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. "It's a bit complicated. But the cores of both of our wands were from the same phoenix. Dumbledore's phoenix, actually, if you can believe it."

"Holy fuck," said Zabini, staring at him in awe. "Are you serious?"

Shrugging in response, Harry turned to find Draco giving him a piercing look, and he worried for a moment that the blond was trying to perform Legilimency on him. "Well," he said awkwardly, "we should probably head down to meet up with the others, yeah?"

The Slytherins all seemed to shake themselves as one, as though throwing off a daze. "Do we really have to?" asked Parkinson uneasily. "I don't want to be around them, Potter. They all hate us. And it's obviously at least one of them who's responsible. I'm in favor of waiting everything out from the safety of Draco's room."

"Seconded," Nott said flatly, staring into the crackling fire.

Harry shook his head. "I think we all need to decide things as a group. You lot need to have a voice too in the decision-making since you're still going to be affected by it, even if you do end up coming back up here. We need everyone to work together. I don't want everything descending into panic, and I think splitting ourselves into factions right now is the beginning of that sort of chaos. If you hide up here and never show your faces, they're going to really start believing that you're all the guilty ones, and that could get very dangerous very fast for every one of us."

"Fuck," Zabini sighed, climbing to his feet. "All right, Potter, you win. Come on, you lot, let's go."

Davis and Nott exchanged a weighted glance before also rising and silently gesturing for Harry to lead the way. Zabini stepped around the table to stand next to Parkinson, slipping his hand into hers and holding tight, and the soft way she looked at him in response made Harry feel lonely and uncomfortable, like he was intruding on something private. He glanced at Draco out of the corner of his eye, startled to find the man already staring at him.

"Come on then," Harry muttered, falling into step beside Malfoy as the blond led them from the room into the cold darkened corridor. The trip downstairs was made in silence.

oOo

"What are they doing here?" Zacharias sneered the moment the Slytherins entered the parlor.

"Having just as much fun as everyone else, Smith," Zabini drawled sarcastically, glaring at the Hufflepuff. "What the fuck does it look like?"

"So which one of you did it?" the blond demanded. "Which one of you killed him?"

"Bit hard to do," Nott responded, sounding bored, "since none of us were even on the same floor as him."

"So you say," Smith spat. "Why the hell do you think we would we ever just trust the word of a Slytherin?"

"And is this what everyone thinks?" Zabini asked coolly, turning to eye the others. "Are you all allowing Smith to be the voice of the silent majority?"

"What did you do to him?" a quiet voice asked, and everyone's attention turned to Anthony Goldstein, who was rising to his feet with a hard look in his eyes. "What did you do to Terry?"

"I already told you," said Zabini in an even colder voice, "it wasn't us. I'm sorry for the loss of your friend, but it wasn't our doing."

"LIAR!" Goldstein screamed, taking a threatening step forward, and several people startled in surprise. "ONE OF YOU DID IT, ONE OF YOU KILLED HIM! TELL ME! WHO WAS IT?!"

"It wasn't us!" Parkinson snapped. "We've all been together the entire time!"

"THEN IT WAS ALL OF YOU!" Anthony shouted, red eyes wild and puffy, neck veins bulging.

"Tony," Padma said quietly, trying to pull Goldstein back down onto the sofa next to her, but he shook her off.

"No, Padma!" he said angrily, still glaring at the Slytherins. "Someone killed him. It was someone in this room! And they're the only ones capable of something like that!"

"Is this what you brought us down here for, Potter?" Nott turned to him, accusation slicing his every word into a sharp sound. "To be hanged, drawn, and quartered without any sort of due process?"

"FUCK YOUR DUE PROCESS!" Goldstein yelled, wand clenched in one hand. "YOU LOT DON'T FUCKING DESERVE DUE PROCESS! YOU'RE GUILTY AND WE ALL KNOW IT!"

"Anthony," Harry said warningly, "calm down. Now."

Glaring, Anthony turned and strode to the nearest wall, surprising everyone when he smashed his fist through the wood. "My best friend was just killed," he said in a low voice, slowly pulling out his hand and ignoring the blood running free from his bruised and scraped knuckles; Harry wondered if he had broken anything. "I just lost one of my best friends. He was killed, he was _murdered_. And you want me to calm down?" Turning back to the Slytherins, his glare deepened. " _Which one of you did it?"_ he asked in a dangerous voice, and Harry tightened his grip on his wand.

"Anthony," Neville said quietly, hands held up in a placating manner. "Just give us all a chance to talk this through, all right?"

"Sure," said Goldstein through gritted teeth, " _after_ they've all been locked up! Once we get their wands, we can talk about whatever the fuck you idiots want to talk about!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Parkinson move closer to Zabini, who took a protective step in front of her to shield her with his body.

"Anthony," Harry said sharply. "You need to back off, _now_. Just sit down and take a deep breath, okay?"

"I don't FUCKING need to sit down!" Anthony shouted. "I need to find out which of them did it so I can make them pay!"

Over against the wall, Harry could see Zacharias watching the proceedings smugly, almost gleefully, and it made Harry want to hex both men.

"Anthony!" Harry barked. "I've already told you, _back off_. We don't have enough evidence to point a finger at anybody yet! You're just as much a suspect as they are!"

At that, Anthony's eyes bulged. "Just as much a suspect as they are?" he repeated in a whisper. "Terry was my _best friend_ you STUPID FUCKING—" he seemed to struggle with words for several moments, face purpling from the effort to find a good enough insult. "GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY!" he finally screamed, brandishing his wand in the same blood-soaked hand he had put through the wall. "I'LL HEX YOU TOO IF I HAVE TO!"

"Tony," a soft voice said, and suddenly, Padma was standing before Anthony, both hands on the sides of his face as she gazed at him with teary eyes. "Tony," she repeated, and Harry could see Anthony's lower lip tremble as he looked down at her.

"Padma," he said in a shaky voice, "move."

"No," she shook her head, still cradling his face in her hands.

"Padma," he whispered, sounding anguished. "Please. Get out of my way."

"No, Tony," she whispered back, tears streaming down her cheeks. "No, I won't. I know you don't want to do this. Please. I know you won't do this."

"Padma! Goddamn it! Just fucking—" he reached out to clutch at her, swaying forward on his feet, and for a moment Harry was worried that he meant to shove her away, but with a wild gasp he collapsed against her, sobbing bitterly into her shoulder.

"It's okay, Tony," she murmured, stroking his back with one hand and burying the fingers of the other in his hair. "It's okay." Her voice caught before she began crying just as hard, and Harry watched as the two sank to their knees, still clinging to one another as though their embrace was the only thing holding each of them together.

Several feet away, Zacharias sat back with a cross expression, obviously disappointed by the lack of violence and bloodshed he had been expecting; Harry felt a surge of disgust for the man course through him.

"Harry," a quiet voice said behind him, and Harry turned to see Hermione's face in the doorway of the next room over, eyes burning with sympathy as she gazed down at Anthony and Padma sobbing against one another. She gestured for Harry to come into the room she was in, making him hesitate as he considered the Slytherins.

"Come with me," he finally decided, speaking in a low murmur to the five of them and trying to lead them as surreptitiously from the room as he could.

"Where are they going?" Smith demanded, and Harry ground his teeth in frustration as he turned to face the infuriating man.

"You lot go in there and wait for me," he told them, waiting until they had swept into the other room before turning to Smith. "Hermione needs to speak to them," he lied, wanting to avoid another fight and another round of accusations. "She's spoken to everybody else about where they were and now she needs to talk to them. That all right with you, Smith?" he ended a bit more aggressively than he had meant to.

Mouth tight, Zacharias looked away.

"Good then," Harry said coldly, sparing one last sad look for Padma and Anthony before following the Slytherins into the other room.

"So," Zabini started once the door had been shut and silenced behind the brunet, "what did you bring us in here for?"

Harry sighed. "To keep you away from the others. Frankly, I don't trust them not to do anything rash right now."

"That's comforting," Parkinson said quietly, and Harry looked at her closely, noting that her face was pale and her fingers trembling.

"It'll be okay," he said, hearing how empty those words sounded even to his own ears.

"Just how much of a chance is there of us being attacked by them?" Nott demanded, settling his weight on his back foot as he glared at the room they had just come from. "First opportunity they get, they're going to tear us apart."

"That's not going to happen," Harry shook his head. "Anthony will calm down."

"Or he'll get angrier," Nott disagreed. "Everybody blames us, you know they do. And Boot had a lot of friends. We're not safe and you know it."

Glancing around the five of them, Harry could not deny those words. "Nothing will happen to you," he vowed in a low voice, staring directly at Malfoy as he spoke.

"Harry's right," Hermione said, stepping forward. "We're not going to let anything happen to anyone. We still don't have any answers, and nothing will be accomplished by giving into savagery. All we can do is continue trying to keep the peace as best we can."

"And do you think you can?" Zabini asked curiously, eyes narrowed as he gazed at Hermione. "Are you not also afraid for yourself, Granger, if you insist on standing between us and a crazed mob?"

Hermione met his gaze calmly, back straight as she responded. "That doesn't mean we're simply going to step aside. I've never allowed fear to dictate where I stand, Zabini."

At her words, Zabini cracked an unexpected smile. "You know," he told her, relaxing his stance, "I had always thought the Hat had made a mistake with you. I was always so sure you should have gone to Ravenclaw instead of Gryffindor, but you really are every bit as Gryffindor as the rest of the Golden Trio, aren't you?"

Snorting, Hermione shook her head. "We really hate that name," she said dryly, and Harry heard Malfoy chuckle quietly.

"And yet it's so catchy," Zabini grinned.

"Do you really think we're safe?" Parkinson cut in, and Zabini wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her tightly against his side, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"Nothing will touch you," he murmured, pressing a final kiss to her dark hair.

"He's right," Harry said, staring at Malfoy, "nothing will touch any of you."

"I need to speak to you, Harry," Hermione interrupted quietly.

"Right," Harry sighed, swinging his arms. "You lot stay right here."

"You can definitely trust us not to wander off," Zabini said sardonically.

"Ron," Harry said to the redhead standing just behind Hermione, "will you go over and help Neville? Just make sure they're not fighting or anything, yeah?"

With a sigh, Ron nodded, striding from the room and shutting the door behind himself.

Wandering over to Hermione, he followed her to the far wall to speak to her in a quiet voice. "What did you find, Hermione?" he asked, glancing back at the room Ron had just gone into.

She shook her head, appearing frustrated. "Nothing solid," she admitted, and Harry felt his stomach sink. "Padma, Parvati, Lisa, and Susan had all been in the lounge at the time of Terry's disappearance. Ron and I were in the foyer, and you and Draco had gone for a walk around the ground floor, yes?" He nodded and she continued, "Seamus and Dean say they had found a snooker table in one of the rooms and had been there the entire time. They both said that you and Draco would be able to confirm that."

"I can confirm that we found them in there," Harry shrugged. "I can't confirm how long they had been there though."

"Yes, I know," she sighed. "We found Michael and Anthony in the library, and both of them said they had been there since lunch, but again, no one else can confirm it."

"What about Smith and Entwhistle?" Harry wondered. Knowing Smith, he hardly seemed the type to go wandering around when his life was in danger.

"We didn't find them until we were nearly back to the lounge," Hermione frowned. "I don't know how we could have missed them initially, but we found them near the staircase."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "You mean the staircase right next to the lounge?"

Hermione sighed again. "Yes, Harry, that staircase. They said they had been wandering around and were trying to find the rest of us, although why they didn't go into the lounge to look is a mystery to me."

"Right," Harry repeated quietly, "a mystery."

"Neville told me the exact same story you did," she continued, gazing at the far wall. "He said that he and Justin went to the conservatory and that Justin left for a bit to find a bathroom. Once he got back, they separated to try to find a way out through the walls of the conservatory, and that was when you found him."

"What did he tell you about Justin?"

"That he couldn't find him," she said flatly, and Harry wondered what she was thinking. "He said that Justin was meant to have been in the other room but hadn't been. And Justin told me the same thing he had said out in the hall, that he had been in the room Neville had left him in before moving up to the second level of the main room of the conservatory and that he hadn't known any of you had gone in there or that Neville had left until he went to find him."

"And do you believe him?"

Hermione sighed. "Honestly, Harry? I don't know what to believe. I would never have thought Justin would be capable of something like this, but I can say the same thing of every single person here."

"Yeah," Harry agreed lifelessly. God, the whole situation was making his head spin; he had no idea what to think anymore.

"What about the Slytherins?" she asked, slanting them a glance, and Harry half-turned his head to see the five of them huddled near the wall, speaking quietly; Harry wondered what they were saying and had to fight the sudden urge to walk over and find out.

Ignoring it, he turned back to Hermione. "They were all in Draco's room. Together. They all looked pretty settled in when we got there."

"Yes," Hermione mused thoughtfully, glancing back at them. "I can't imagine that any of them could be involved in this without the others being at least aware, if not just as equally involved themselves."

"You're not saying you think they're the ones responsible, are you?" Harry hissed, wondering why he was so upset at the implication.

Hermione gave him a knowing look, one that Harry had to turn away from. "No, Harry, I'm not." He released a breath, nodding. "I'm saying that because of the number and closeness of the group, I don't believe they're the guilty ones."

Harry paused to consider her words. "What does that mean?"

"Well," she shrugged, "there are five of them. That just seems to be too large a number to be working together in something as dangerous as this. That would take quite a lot of trust to be able to pull something like this off without one of them cracking, or at least one of them fearing the others would crack."

"And cracking first as a result of that suspicion," Harry finished. "And there's no way that only one or two of them could be involved without the others becoming aware, because of how tight-knit they all are."

"Exactly," she agreed. "And I doubt that the ones who didn't know would take kindly to the guilty one putting all of their lives at risk in that way. All of them are far too self-preserving for a plan such as this."

"Yeah," Harry nodded, eyeing Malfoy.

"Do you trust him?" Hermione's voice startled the brunet, and he glanced back in surprise.

"Trust who?" he asked stupidly, earning a raised eyebrow.

"Malfoy."

"Oh," he said quietly, turning back to look at the blond, who was gazing right at him, and Harry felt his face redden as he turned away. "I mean, I chose him as my partner, didn't I?"

"Yes," Hermione said in a patient voice, and Harry hated that she was so smart and could see through his deflections so easily. "But I also know that more than one person in that other room thinks that you only did so to keep a closer eye on him because you suspect him of being guilty."

"It's not him," Harry said sharply, glancing back to find all five Slytherins staring at him curiously. Flushing, he pulled Hermione closer to the wall. "I was sure of that before I asked him if he wanted to be paired with me, and I'm even more sure of that now."

Hermione said nothing, gaze flicking between Harry and Draco with quiet curiosity, and Harry wondered what sort of deductions she was making.

"Well," she finally sighed, "I'm afraid that that still doesn't give us the answers we're looking for."

"We need to find something, Hermione," he said in a low voice, "the others are one attack away from losing it completely. Anthony was ready to hex every single one of the Slytherins just now, along with anyone who got in his way."

"I know," she frowned. "I realize the effects that fear and grief have on a person. The panic is only going to grow the longer we remain here."

"How long do you think it will take the Ministry to realize where we are?"

Sighing, she shook her head. "I have no idea. The real problem is that today is only Saturday, so we most likely have until Monday at the earliest before anyone will even begin to suspect that something is wrong. And I'm not sure how swiftly they'll take action once they begin to suspect, especially in regard to any of the others. I hate to say it, but I really do think that the three of us and Neville are everyone's best bet for getting out of here. We're the ones who will be noticed first when we don't arrive to work on Monday. Especially you, Harry."

"But how long will it then take them to trace us here?" Harry wondered. "I mean, nobody in the Ministry outside of you and Ron is tuned in to my wards, and the Aurors will need some sort of warrant for justifiable cause to break through them into my flat. And they need at least forty-eight hours before they can even file for one in the case of a missing person."

"I know," she sighed heavily. "All we can really do is hope that they can somehow bend the rules and speed up the process when they realize that all four of us are missing. And hopefully, by then, some of the others here will have been reported missing as well, so maybe they'll be able to do something about it more quickly than usual."

"And in the meantime, we're stuck waiting," Harry mused. Any way one looked at it, the situation was not good.

"It's all we can do for now," she reminded him. "At least the house has plenty of food, and space and bedding certainly aren't issues."

"What about tonight?" Harry asked. "What are we going to do tonight? Do you think it better to stay as a group or split into smaller groups? Maybe we should let the others choose who they trust enough to spend the night with."

"I've been wondering that myself," she said grimly. "But honestly, I think it's better to remain as a group. That way, at least we know where everybody is. We'll have at least two of us keeping watch at all times, and we can rotate through sleeping shifts. I doubt that anyone here is going to get very much sleep, regardless."

"What about the Slytherins?" Harry lowered his voice. "Do you think they'll be safe sleeping near the others?"

Hermione sighed. "I don't know. But I do know that the others will only continue to grow more suspicious of them if they continue to lock themselves away. Separating themselves completely from everybody else could prove to be more dangerous than beneficial for them."

"I'll look over them tonight then," Harry said, turning back to gaze at Malfoy. "I'll convince them all to spend the night with everybody else, but I want to stay up and watch over them. Right now, I trust them more than the others not to do anything rash."

"Okay," Hermione said softly. "Ron, Neville, and I will figure out a schedule to keep watch over the rest of them then. But you're going to need to get some sleep at some point tonight, Harry. You can't sit up the whole night, you know."

"Maybe…" Harry trailed off thoughtfully. "Draco!" he called without warning, startling all five Slytherins.

"Yes?" Malfoy asked, one eyebrow raised.

Walking closer, Harry's gaze flicked between all five of them. "You said you had a potions lab, didn't you?"

Frowning, Malfoy nodded.

"Excellent," Harry said, eyes darting to Hermione before looking back at Malfoy. "Do you think you could brew something for me? Or allow Hermione to brew it?"

"It's my lab, Potter," Malfoy huffed, "I'll be the one brewing. Now, what potion are you talking about?"

"Something to keep me awake all night," said Harry, ignoring Nott's huffed laughter.

"Draco hardly needs to give you a _potion_ to do that now, does he?" the man muttered, and Harry felt himself turn red. God, why was every single Slytherin always making some sort of innuendo every time they opened their mouths?

"And why do you want to be kept awake all night?" Malfoy asked, ignoring Nott as well, but Harry noticed that Draco's cheeks were pink.

"Because," said Harry, sounding much more confident than he felt—he had no reason to think that any of the Slytherins were about to go along with his suggestion. "Because I'm going to stay up and help keep watch over everyone tonight."

Zabini snorted. "Well good luck with that, Potter. You'll be spending the night with a bunch of nutters."

Harry gave him a flat stare. "I mean for the five of you to be there as well, obviously."

Their reactions were almost comical. Every single one of the Slytherins' mouths tightened, arms folding as they all stared Harry down as though he was the world's biggest idiot.

"Not a fucking chance," Zabini shook his head. "Did you not see what happened back there?" He gestured to the parlor. "Do you really think any of them will be okay with us spending the fucking _night_ near them? They'll tear us apart in our fucking sleep!"

"Hence," Harry said calmly, speaking before any of the others had a chance, "the reason I will be staying awake. When I said I'd keep watch over everyone, I meant the five of you."

They all stared at him.

"No," Parkinson finally said, shaking her head. "I would feel much safer sleeping in Draco's room again."

"I agree," Zabini nodded. "Last time that lot," he jerked his chin toward the parlor door, "all spent the night together, one of them died. None of us did. Draco's room is obviously the safer choice for us."

"Look," Harry said in a low voice, stepping closer, "Hermione and I are trying to keep everyone together and keep things from spiraling out of control. People are already starting to panic. If we split ourselves off, things are going to get worse. Don't give them any more reason to suspect you."

"At the cost of our lives?" Nott drawled, shooting Harry an unimpressed look.

"I already told you," Harry's nostrils flared, "I will be awake the entire night. You lot can stay up with me all night as well if it will make you feel better. But I really do think that you need to spend the night with everyone else. Divisions are only going to lead to mistrust and panic. And panic is dangerous."

They all traded a look. "And you're sure?" Davis asked softly. "You're sure that you can keep us safe?"

"And not just from whoever the psycho behind all the murder is," Nott added, sounding bored. "If you turn your back on us for even a second, Potter, the others will tear us to shreds. And if we're all spending the night together in one room, they'll recognize it as the perfect opportunity to get rid of us all in one go."

"Why do you think I brought you in here with me?" Harry asked in a similar tone. "I wouldn't just leave you on your own, Nott, I know how everybody in there sees you right now."

"So you're asking us to trust you then?" the other man raised an eyebrow skeptically. "With our lives?"

"Yes," Harry said simply, gaze lingering on Malfoy. The blond was staring at him so intensely, in a way that made Harry long to know everything he was thinking.

Zabini sighed. "Draco?"

They all turned as one to look at Malfoy, who appeared unsettled at the sudden attention. "You're sure, Potter?" he asked softly. "You're certain that nothing will harm any of us if we agree to this?"

"I promise," he vowed, wondering at the slight shiver that tingled through him. Malfoy nodded, and the others grudgingly nodded as well.

"So where will we be spending the night, then?" Zabini spoke up, wrapping one arm protectively around Parkinson's shoulders.

"I wanted to ask you about that, actually, Malfoy." Hermione's voice sounded behind Harry, and he turned to look at her as she stepped next to him. "I noticed when I was in the library earlier that it only has one entrance, correct?"

"Yes," he nodded. "It's in the very corner of the east wing and only has the entrance connecting it to the main hall."

She nodded. "Then I would like to set up there if we can. It's certainly large enough to accommodate us all, and a room is far easier to ward with only one possible entrance."

"I suppose," Malfoy allowed. "As long as everyone promises not to damage anything in there. The library is my favorite room in the house, Granger, and I will not hesitate to throw anybody out into the corridor to fend for themselves if they destroy a single thing."

"Noted," she said in amusement. "But do you really think I would stand for something as crass as the needless destruction of books?"

Malfoy snorted. "Point, I suppose."

She offered them all a smile, but Harry could see the way her expression continued to remain tight and steely. "All right, then. I think we should all move to the library now and set everything up. Then we can start preparing dinner and turn in early. Parvati suggested a memorial service be held for Hannah, Mandy, and Terry, and I think that's something we should do after dinner. Draco," she turned to address the blond, "you show Harry to the potions lab and start on an Invigoration Draught. If you could make a larger batch for several of us that would be appreciated. That way, we won't have to switch out guard shifts."

"We're going with Draco and Potter," Parkinson said instantly.

"Fine by me," Hermione allowed. "Although that will put you on clean-up duty after dinner."

They stared at her in stony silence.

"All right then," she shrugged. "Malfoy, you lead them there. I'll inform the others of the plan."

"Send me a Patronus straight away if there's any trouble," Harry told her in a low voice, and she nodded before striding into the parlor next door.

"Well, Malfoy," Harry turned to the blond, gesturing with one arm toward the other door along the adjacent wall, "lead the way."

**TBC**


	7. When Sorrows Come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¡Hola, mis amigos! Before we begin, there is a very heartfelt and serious warning for the grief in this chapter. So, you know, brace yourselves for it. We braced? We good? All right, lovelies, let's do this thing!
> 
> _**"When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions!"**_  
>  —William Shakespeare, _Hamlet_

"God, I had forgotten how boring this is," Harry complained, tapping his fingers idly atop the smooth wooden workspace he was leaning against.

Malfoy shot him a sardonic look. "You're not even the one brewing, Potter."

"Yeah, but it's even more boring watching."

"You could always lend a hand," Malfoy suggested, counting stirs as he crumbled some dark claylike substance into the cauldron.

Harry grinned. "Not unless you want that potion five different kinds of fucked."

Zabini laughed at that. "Oh, I don't think it's the _potion_ that Draco wants five different kinds of fucked, Potter."

Harry's brow furrowed in confusion. "What the hell does that even mean?"

"Think about it for a while," the other man grinned, "I'm sure you'll figure it out."

Nearby, Malfoy was shooting Zabini a vicious glare, and Harry had no idea what was happening.

"You guys are bloody confusing to be around," Harry muttered, shaking his head.

"Yes, well, Blaise is clearly deranged, pay no attention to him," Malfoy told him firmly, measuring out two spoons' worth of beetle eyes.

Blaise's wicked grin widened. "Hmm, if he's not allowed to pay me any mind, does that mean I can say whatever I please?"

Malfoy's glare deepened. "I am two seconds away from kicking you out of my lab," he warned.

"Empty threats, Draco," Zabini said airily, waving the danger away. "You value my life far too much to take the risk of tossing me out to the mercy of that rabid pack currently roaming the halls."

Harry frowned. "They're just scared," he said quietly. "And they're grieving. Don't judge who they are based on how they act while they're under so much stress and fear."

"Au contraire, Potter," Zabini disagreed, eyes glinting like steel as he surveyed the Auror. "Moments of true fear are precisely when you should most judge a person, because that is when their true character is really revealed. It's not in moments of calm and peace that tell you who a person truly is beneath their skin. We're never most who we are than in the moments of genuine terror when we are reacting on nothing but pure instinct and self-preservation. That is when all of man's worst traits come to light."

Harry stared at him. "Like I said, bloody confusing. Do you lot always talk in such fucking circles?"

"Ignore Blaise," Parkinson said, peering down into the cauldron Malfoy was working at. "He fancies himself far cleverer and more introspective than he really is."

"And ignore Pansy," the dark-skinned man said, leaning back against the wall. "She fancies herself some sort of overlooking voice of reason."

"Ignore them all, Potter," Malfoy cut in, setting aside the stirrer and extinguishing the flame beneath the cauldron. "They all think that what they have to say is far more interesting than it actually is."

"Can't count Tracey and me," Nott said indifferently. "We haven't said anything."

"Thank Merlin for small miracles," Malfoy muttered, bottling the potion and tucking the large flask away in a pocket of his robes.

"Finished, then?" Harry asked, eyeing the pocket Malfoy had just tucked the potion into.

"Yes," Malfoy said, glancing around at the five others lounging against various surfaces of the room, "no thanks to anybody else in this room."

"Oh, did you want us to help?" drawled Zabini. "You should have said something, Draco."

"Come on, then," Harry cut in before Malfoy could respond. "Let's check the library for the others. If they're not there, they're most likely preparing dinner."

"Do we have to eat with them?" Parkinson wondered, wrinkling her nose at the thought. "I don't really fancy being on the receiving end of death threats over dinner, Potter."

"It'll be fine," Harry promised, not quite sure if it actually would be, but none of the Slytherins would be harmed, of that Harry was certain.

"God," Zabini sighed, "who would ever have guessed the day would come when we would be willingly entrusting our lives to a Gryffindor?"

"Half-Slytherin," Harry corrected with a grin.

"Your better half, clearly," Zabini returned, and Harry shook his head in wry amusement.

"Come on then," he said, gesturing for Malfoy to take the lead and falling into step beside him. The trip to the library was short and silent; all Harry could hear were the sounds of breathing and the soft clicking of footsteps atop the cold hard floor. They stopped before a large set of sable-colored doors with tarnished silver handles, looking old and mysterious and almost secretive, somehow. The doors were inlaid with sparkling crystal and jeweled cuts of glass, glinting with light despite the corridor they were stood in having little illumination to offer. Reaching out, Malfoy grasped both handles and pushed the heavy doors open, the hinges creaking as the blond stepped into the room.

Following closely behind, Harry felt his breath catch as he crossed the threshold behind Draco, gazing around in awe. The room was enormous, every single wall covered in overflowing bookshelves that seemed to stretch to the very heavens, and Harry glanced up to find the ceiling covered in what appeared to be abstract artwork, painted in rich, dark tones. Large hanging metal chandeliers peered down at the black leather sofas and emerald-felt armchairs scattered neatly around the room. A heavy wooden ladder on wheels stood perched nearby, standing intimidatingly tall, and Harry wondered what it would be like to climb to the very top of the shelves and gaze down at the room from such a height. Rectangular windows allowed grey light to filter in through the solid walls of novels, falling on square cherry wood tables holding small, shaded lamps.

Swinging his gaze, Harry glanced to the corner to notice a straight wooden staircase leading up to a second level that looked down on them all, the upstairs appearing to be less than half the size of the room they were in. Past the oiled banister of the second-level balcony, Harry caught a glimpse of more towering bookshelves, and he wondered how many books the enormous room held. Against the far wall sat a large wooden fireplace, empty and barren, and it wasn't until that moment that Harry realized how cold the room was. Despite the beauty and the enormity, the library felt strangely still and lifeless, as though the books were holding their breath. The room felt hollow, almost, in a way that Harry could not explain, suddenly feeling tiny and insignificant surrounded by mile-high bookshelves holding countless novels with unknown names staring down at the six of them in absolute indifference. It made Harry sad, and he was not sure why.

"Nobody's here," he said quietly, feeling as though the words had been shouted, almost imagining he could hear them echo back to him in the vast silence—the library felt so lonely.

"We should probably head to the informal dining room, then," Draco spoke just as softly, sounding as though he was worried about disturbing the slumbering books.

"Come on then," Harry gestured, leading the other five from the room. Malfoy took his place by Harry's side as they strolled away from the depressing room, and Harry struggled to find something to say to fill the strange silence. "I think we'll take the second-level," he finally settled on, glancing back to the Slytherins following. "Tonight. The others can all set up downstairs, and the six of us will take the upstairs. Sound good?"

"Fine with me," Zabini said, and Harry noticed that he seemed to relax slightly at Harry's words.

"I'll ward it as well," he added, and Zabini nodded, trading a look with Parkinson, who reached out to grasp his hand. The sight made Harry feel even lonelier than the library, and he quickly turned back around.

oOo

Dinner was a mostly silent affair. When Harry and the other Slytherins had entered the dining room, it was to find everyone already seated and poking miserably at their food. Several glares were cast their way but thankfully nobody said a word. The Slytherins automatically headed to the very end of the table, Harry trailing along behind them, and he wondered just how he had so quickly become a part of their little group. The seat next to Malfoy was left open, and it wasn't until Harry had served himself some food and sat down that he wondered if it had maybe been left open for him specifically, a thought he wasn't quite sure what to make of.

After the quiet meal had finished, Harry and the Slytherins cleaned everything up, taking their time with the dishes and making sure the kitchen was spotless before returning to the dining room, and Harry couldn't help but think that the only reason they had taken their time was because of how much the Slytherins did not want to be around the others at the moment.

The informal dining room was just as silent as when they had left; Harry gazed around at the somber faces, unable to help but wonder if any more would be lost before they were able to find a way out of the house.

Without warning, the lamps were suddenly doused as a dozen lit candles flickered into view, startling everyone in the room. Hermione rose from her seat and gazed around at everyone in quiet speculation. "Some of you suggested we hold a memorial service," she began softly, gaze flicking around the room, "for the three we've lost so far—Hannah, Mandy, and Terry." Heads bowed at her words, a sad, somber air settling over everything. "I think we should start with a moment of silence, and then open the floor for anyone who would like to say something. However," her eyes narrowed as she stared at everyone in turn, "this is a memorial service, so I would ask that everything said here remain respectful and free from accusation. This is not a time for confrontation. Am I understood?" Heads dipped in acknowledgment, and Hermione relaxed. "All right then. A moment's silence, and then whoever would like to start can do so."

Silence fell behind her words like the drawing of a curtain, one that filled the room with a grief so dusty Harry could taste it in his lungs. Heads bowed in quiet reflection, tears dripping into laps like the falling of rain. Beside him, the Slytherins' heads were bent in respect, but Harry could practically feel how stiffly they were holding themselves, almost as though they were expecting an attack at any moment.

After entire minutes had passed, Susan Bones rose slowly to her feet. "Hannah was my best friend," she began, face already wet with tears. "She was the nicest person I've ever met. She never spoke down to anyone or ever said a single negative thing about another person. Once, when I was sick and had to stay in the Hospital Wing for three days, she went around to all the professors and got the homework assignments I had missed, then tracked down people from all of my classes we didn't share together to get their notes. She brought me all the books I would need for the essays and sat with me in the Hospital Wing for hours going over the lessons with me and making sure I understood everything I had missed." Her voice broke as a sob tore from her throat. "We would spend weeks quizzing one another before exams. We ate every single meal at school together. She was the person I sat next to on the boat our very first night of Hogwarts. I was so happy when we both got sorted into Hufflepuff. She was normally so quiet and shy, but she cheered the loudest when I went over to the table and sat next to her. She gave me a hug and told me we were meant to be friends." Susan's voice thickened as the tears fell faster, and Lisa reached out to grip Susan's hand tightly. "She was always talking about f-fate and destiny," she gave a choked laugh, "always reading romance novels and talking about what the future held in store for everybody. She believed that ev-everything always happens for a reason, but…" Susan paused to sob loudly, nearly choking on the force of her tears, "but this w-wasn't meant to happen. None of this was m-meant to happen; my best friend was not meant to be m-m-murdered like that. This was not fate; it wasn't destiny. It wasn't her d-destiny to be killed, and it wasn't my destiny to watch my b-best friend bleed to death r-r-right in front of me! I just want to understand," she whispered, collapsing back into her chair and weeping into her hands. Lisa wrapped an arm around her shoulders as she used her other hand to wipe her own tears from her face. The room fell back into silence, and Harry looked over to the Slytherins to find them grim-faced and pale, Tracey trying rather futilely to hide her red eyes.

"Terry was a good person," a sudden voice said, and everyone looked over to find Michael Corner standing. "He's one of the nicest blokes I've ever met. I'm honestly not sure if I've ever even heard him get into an argument with anybody before. We've been best mates since we were eleven, since the day he sat next to me in Charms. I didn't own a broomstick of my own until I was thirteen, and Terry used to let me have a go on his whenever I wanted. We used to go down to the village together every Hogsmeade weekend. Do you remember, Anthony, how he would always want to go to the quill shop first to look at the stationery?" He gave a broken laugh as Anthony smiled through tear-filled eyes. "Scrivenshaft's was his favorite shop in the whole village. All his pocket money went there, and I sometimes felt like he was the one person keeping them in business. He even used to have different quills for different classes and _had_ to use the right one for the right class or he would go mad. God, he could be so mental about that," Michael chuckled as a tear slid down his face. "He even had quills for essays and separate quills for notes and refused to use them for anything other than what he decided they were meant for. Anthony and I used to switch them around when he wasn't looking to see if he noticed, but he always did. He always knew exactly what quill was meant to be used for what. Stephen," Michael turned to give the other man a watery smile, "do you remember that time in Transfiguration when you asked him if you could borrow one of his million quills and he almost had a mental breakdown about it? I think handing over that quill was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. But he did, because he couldn't not help people. Do you remember, Anthony, that time in third year when we were stuck outside of the common room for ages because we couldn't answer the door's stupid question? And then Terry comes along and answers it right the first try." He shook his head, smiling sadly. "We'd been out there forever trying to figure it out. And he didn't even take the mickey for how long we'd been stuck out there.

"And I remember one time," Michael continued, the smile dropping from his face, "in seventh year, he stopped a group of students harassing a second-year Slytherin they had cornered, and I remember he got asked why afterwards, and he said that she hadn't been a Slytherin, she had been a child. He said that she wasn't to blame for any of the bad shit that was going on in the school at the time, because she was a child before she was a Slytherin." Michael's eyes flicked to the Slytherins huddled close together at the end of the table. "He was one of those people who couldn't handle fighting; he hated confrontation. All he wanted was for everyone to get along. All he wanted was to help people. I mean, he was in Dumbledore's Army with us, wasn't he?" A shaky laugh left his mouth as he looked at the other members of the D.A., and Harry saw them all smiling through their grief. "He just wanted to help, in any way he could. Terry Boot was a good person," he finished, trying to surreptitiously wipe a tear from his cheek as he sat back down.

One by one, others stood and spoke about the three who had died, some managing to smile through their grief as they spoke of their friends and the memories they had of them, and others unable to continue through their tears. Lisa had to sit back down halfway through her speech about Mandy, so overcome with emotion that she could not speak through the force of her crying. Several of them said nothing, sitting glassy-eyed and tight-mouthed in their seats as they listened to the others.

Then, Malfoy stood up. A hush fell over the entire room as everybody stared at him, some with open hostility, others with curiosity. Harry saw mistrust and suspicion on several faces, along with sorrow and an almost raw, naked hope that Harry had to turn away from, as though they were expecting Malfoy to announce to them that the whole thing had been a joke and that nobody had actually died.

But he didn't.

"I never knew Hannah, Mandy, or Terry," he began, looking down at the table as he spoke. "All of us here were in the same year together, but I would be lying if I said that I ever attempted to reach out to anyone I did not share a House with. I knew them from classes and from the Great Hall, but I don't have a single memory of any of them that I could share." He halted, somehow seeming unaware of the rapt attention he was receiving. "But…" he glanced up to look at Michael, voice as heavy as his gaze, "I do remember the story you told, Michael. About Terry standing up to the others in defense of the Slytherin second-year. I remember hearing her tell that story to several others in the common room the day it happened, and how she had been so grateful that Terry had been there to stop it. She said that she had been so frightened, especially when he started to walk over to them, because she had been so sure that he was going to join the ones harassing her, but he hadn't. He defended her when he didn't have to. When nobody expected him to. And not very many people would have. Not very many people have ever stuck up for us. And I remember sitting there that day in the common room, wondering if I would have stopped to help her, wondering if there had ever been a point in my life when I would have been brave enough or selfless enough to step in front of an angry crowd and tell them that they were wrong. I've never really defended anybody before, let alone a stranger. And I've never, ever been able to forget that story. You were right, Michael, when you said he was a good person." Over in the corner, Harry saw Michael lower his head as his shoulders shook with silent tears.

"The five of us," Draco continued, gesturing to the other four Slytherins seated near him, "invited you all here to try to put to rest this image you have of us as awful people because, whether you believe it or not, we have all changed. We're not who we were back in school. And it was never, ever our intention to put anybody in danger. And I would like to formally apologize to everybody in this room for inadvertently doing so because that is the exact opposite of what I had been hoping to achieve with this party." Several sobs sounded around the room. "And I would like, if I may, to recite a poem for everyone here. This is a poem I read at my father's funeral, and while it is just a poem and nothing more than a collection of words, it did bring me some small level of comfort at the time."

Harry's chest tightened at the final statement; he had known that Lucius Malfoy had died only months after being sentenced to Azkaban, but Harry had never really thought about the fact that Draco had lost his father. Harry had never thought he would be sad at the idea of Lucius Malfoy's death, but somehow, he was.

A throat clearing pulled Harry's attention back into the moment, and he looked over to Draco to find him staring at the far wall, opening his mouth to speak:

" _Remember me when I am gone away,_  
 _Gone far away into the silent land;_  
 _When you can no more hold me by the hand,_  
 _Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay._  
 _Remember me when no more day by day_  
 _You tell me of our future that you plann'd:_  
 _Only remember me; you understand_  
 _It will be late to counsel then or pray._  
 _Yet if you should forget me for a while_  
 _And afterwards remember, do not grieve:_  
 _For if the darkness and corruption leave_  
 _A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,_  
 _Better by far you should forget and smile_  
 _Than that you should remember and be sad_ _."_

The final word seemed to echo through the silent room before trailing into silence like the gentle drifting of snow, the quiet seeming to strengthen as Malfoy sat back down. Nobody said a word.

After what felt like an eternity of silence, Harry rose. "I know," he began quietly, glancing to Malfoy before looking around the room, "that none of us here are strangers to loss. Not too long ago, fear and grief made up the entire world we lived in, and loss was almost part of our everyday lives. And I know that we're all scared, and I know that we're all grieving. And I know that what's happening is horrible. But I also know that we're strong. We've already survived so much. We made it through the war; we were strong enough to make it through the fear and the pain and the loss. And we're strong enough to make it through this. We'll find a way out of here, we'll find whoever is responsible, and we'll do it for Hannah, Mandy, and Terry. Whoever is doing this won't get away with it, I promise." A ringing silence followed his words, and Harry glanced around to see several people nodding in agreement.

"All right," Hermione said softly as she stood. "Would anybody else care to say anything?" She looked around but nobody spoke up. "Very well, then. So, I would like to go over the plan for tonight. We've decided on the library as the best place to spend the night in. There's plenty of room for all of us and the layout offers enough space to make it easy to keep an eye on everybody. There will always be at least two of us keeping watch over everyone while we sleep. Neville and I will take the first shift," she nodded to Neville, who nodded back, "and then we'll switch Ron out for each of us in turn. Does that sound okay to everyone?"

"What about you, Harry?" Parvati asked, staring at him with wet, reddened eyes.

"I'll be on the second level of the library with the Slytherins," Harry said quietly. "We'll all be in the same room, but the six of us thought it best if we take the upstairs for the night." As he said this, he glanced to Anthony, who narrowed his eyes slightly.

"You're seriously going to continue protecting them over us?" Zacharias drawled, shaking his head in disgust. "Why not defend the ones who actually matter, Potter?"

"I don't think you want us voting on the one we all think matters the least here, Smith," Michael said in a hard voice, glaring at the Hufflepuff.

"It's comments like that, Zacharias," Harry said in a soft voice edged with steel, "that make me find it so necessary to look out for them." Zacharias flushed but Harry continued speaking before the other man had the chance. "But if you would like to join us up on the second level for the night, by all means, do so. Nobody is saying you can't."

At his words, the expressions on the faces of the Slytherins tightened, clearly disagreeing with the statement, but none of them said a word, not even Zacharias, although he did continue to glare down at the table.

"All right then," Harry said to the others. "We're going to all stick together in as large a group as we can from now on, but you and your partner are still responsible for looking out for one another. Nobody goes anywhere alone, understood? Not even the bathroom." He looked at Justin as he said the words, bringing a tinge of red to the man's cheeks, but he stared resolutely back at Harry.

"We should go get set up now then," Hermione spoke up, still on her feet. "If anybody would like to wash up before bed, please do so now, but make sure you have at least one other person with you at all times."

As though her final words had been a stamp of dismissal, everybody rose to their feet and began to make their way from the room, Michael and Anthony in the front. "We know where it is so we can show you lot," Harry heard Michael say, and Hermione and Ron followed behind to oversee everything.

The room was quiet as Harry looked at the five Slytherins still remaining. "We should go as well," Harry said quietly. "We can get set up first and then we can all go wash up as a group, yeah?"

Sighing in agreement, the five Slytherins rose to their feet and began to slowly make their way from the room.

Hanging back just slightly, Harry pulled on Draco's sleeve to slow him down. The blond slanted him a curious look as he and Harry followed behind the others at a distance.

"What is it?" the blond wondered.

"I just…" Harry paused to rake a hand through his hair, feeling well past awkward for what he was about to say. "I just wanted to say…that I'm sorry. About your dad."

Draco's curiosity melted away to be replaced by a look of surprise. "You are?" he breathed, staring at Harry as though trying to pierce skin with his gaze.

"Yeah, I am," Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "I know that your dad and I never got along in the past…" he trailed off as Malfoy snorted quietly, "but…he was still your father and I'm sorry that you lost him. I know what it's like to not have a dad, but I don't really know what it's like to have lost one, since I don't remember losing him. And I know that your dad did a lot of bad things,"—Malfoy's gaze dropped to the floor and Harry hurried to continue speaking—"but I also know that you loved him. And I could tell that he loved you. And I figure, you know, that that's what's important in families. So…I'm sorry," he finished lamely, a part of him wanting to take back the entire awkward conversation.

"Thank you," Draco said softly, staring at Harry in a way that made Harry feel oddly vulnerable. "Thank you, Harry."

It wasn't until that moment that Harry realized that the two of them had come to a stop, staring at one another in quiet contemplation. "I really liked that poem you recited," Harry confessed, feeling unable to look away from Draco's grey eyes. "I wouldn't have expected you to be able to recite poetry from memory like that."

A wry grin touched the very corners of Malfoy's mouth. "There is so much you don't know about me, Harry Potter."

"Yeah," Harry said quietly, eyes searching Draco's face. "There is, isn't there?"

The other man's smile widened. "Come on then. The others have gotten too far ahead and Pansy will be upset if we don't keep up with them. That girl is not known for her patience."

Returning the smile, Harry gestured for Draco to lead the way, falling into step beside him as they strode down the corridor together, and Harry was unable to stop himself from peeking glances at the blond every so often, just as he couldn't stop himself from wondering how he could learn more about Draco Malfoy.

oOo

"So, Potter," Zabini said sometime later, the six of them sitting on lumpy beds they had Transfigured from various objects around the library, "on a scale of one to dead, how likely do you think we are to be murdered tonight?"

"Zero," Harry said, sounding much more confident than he felt. If he was being honest with himself, he had no idea what to expect during the night. He had warded the top of the staircase leading to the second-level, and they had all set up their beds in the farthest corner, tucked back behind a large bookcase. But would it be enough? What if someone downstairs was hurt during the night and Harry wasn't there to stop it?

But no, he told himself, Ron, Hemione, and Neville were all there and were all going to be taking it in turns to look over everybody, and Harry trusted their abilities to handle themselves. They would be fine; everybody would be fine. Everybody would make it to see morning—Harry had to believe that.

"We'll be fine," Harry assured the others, "nobody is getting past the wards I put on those stairs. And I placed a spell on the third step to alert me in advance if anybody is coming up. It'll be fine."

The Slytherins seemed to relax slightly at his words, falling quiet as they all settled into bed. Parkinson and Zabini were sharing a mattress, and Harry felt that familiar twinge of loneliness at the way she curled into him and the sight of him wrapping his arm around her in response.

Looking over to Draco, he was surprised to find the blond already staring at him. He was sat on the bed nearest to Harry, wearing a pair of black silk pyjamas that made his pale skin glow like moonlight and his hair shine silver in the flickering candlelight. It also made him look younger and more vulnerable, softer and more approachable in a way that he did not seem during daylight. Harry had never seen the man in any sort of sleepwear before, and it had an oddly disarming effect on him.

Glancing down, he looked at his own borrowed sleepwear that Malfoy had loaned him, a pair of emerald green pyjamas, and Harry wondered if all of Malfoy's nightclothes were silk. He also wondered what Draco thought when he looked at Harry wearing a set of Draco's pyjamas.

"Er, thanks again," Harry said awkwardly, hoping the others could not hear him. "For, you know, letting me borrow these." He gestured down toward the silk sleepwear and saw Malfoy smile in response.

"Sure, Potter," he said just as softly. "Besides, green looks better on you than it does on me."

"I think green looks good on you," Harry blurted, reddening in the very next second as Draco's initial look of surprise melted into a pleased smile. "Er, you know, just—from what I remember from school, and everything…you in Slytherin green, I mean…"

Malfoy's smile widened, faltering as he glanced over his shoulder at the others. Seeming to come to a decision, he moved to sit next to Harry on his mattress, flicking his wand in a complicated privacy ward, one that would allow Harry and Draco to hear any noises beyond it but would not allow anybody to hear what they were saying; Harry was impressed.

"I remember you in Gryffindor red," Draco said almost playfully, in a tone of voice Harry was sure he had never heard from the man before. "Although, if I'm being honest, you really do look better in green. Just one of the many shames about you not being in Slytherin, I suppose."

"Many?" Harry raised one eyebrow at the blond. "What are the others? You know, besides how apparently stunning I look in the house colors."

Malfoy blushed even as he fought an embarrassed smile. "I never said _stunning_ , Potter," he said in a haughty voice. "I said _better_. You can look bad but still look better than the worst version of yourself, you know."

Harry grinned. "Are you saying that I look bad in green but not as bad as I do in red?"

"I already said that you look good in green once, I won't say it again," Malfoy flushed.

"What if I like hearing it though?" Harry bumped his shoulder, unable to resist teasing the man whilst he was wearing pyjamas and blushing.

"Too bad," was the only response.

"You know," Harry began, "I've never actually worn silk pyjamas before. This is a whole new experience for me."

Draco grinned. "You absolute pleb." Harry chuckled softly as he continued, "But I'm okay with it. I really don't mind being the one to give you new experiences, Potter."

"Harry," Harry corrected automatically before his mind caught up with the speed of his mouth, and he could feel his face scrunch in confusion as he thought back over Malfoy's statement about new experiences. Had he meant it to sound like that? Like some sort of innuendo? Or had it merely been an innocent comment?

"So," Malfoy continued in the same flirty tone, the one that was making Harry's head spin with confusion, "am I allowed to tell people that I was Harry Potter's first?" Harry gaped at him in shock, and Draco laughed as he continued speaking. "To show him the wonders of silk pyjamas, I mean."

"Right," Harry mumbled, feeling his face flush. God, had Malfoy taken private lessons on how to make sexual innuendos, or was Harry just imagining the whole thing? He had always been pants at recognizing when someone was flirting with him. Was that what Malfoy was doing? Or was he simply joking to put Harry at ease? Or was he joking to rile Harry up? God, Harry had no idea!

"What are you thinking?" Malfoy wondered, shifting a centimeter closer. "You look very deep in thought."

"Just trying to figure you out," Harry finally said, searching Draco's face.

Draco smiled. "And what conclusions have you come to so far?"

"Only that I really don't know you even half as well as I thought I did," Harry admitted. "Have you always been such a bloody mystery?"

Malfoy raised a silver eyebrow at him. "Of course," he said smoothly. "I have always been an interesting and intriguing individual, Potter, and it's about time that you finally recognize that."

Harry grinned. "I'm not sure if those are quite the adjectives I would use to describe you, Malfoy, but you're definitely something, I'll give you that."

"Something you find intriguing," Malfoy joked, but Harry didn't think it was meant to be a joke at all. Draco's words were soft and his gaze serious as he studied Harry's face.

Harry nodded hesitantly. "Yeah, I think I might," he said in a quiet voice.

Draco smiled. "I think I might like you being intrigued by me."

Harry smiled back. "I s'pose I won't stop, then."

They stared at one another for several moments before both glancing to the others, who, despite their earlier fear and worry, had all settled down and appeared to be at least attempting to fall asleep.

"Tell me a story, Potter," Malfoy said suddenly, shifting closer.

"A story?" Harry repeated, frowning in confusion. "What, like a bedtime story or something? I don't know any."

"Just tell me what you've been up to these past two years," Draco shrugged. "I let you borrow my pyjamas, Potter, you owe me. And I want a bedtime story."

"Demanding git," Harry grinned, shaking his head but settling more comfortably into his bed as he dutifully gave in to Malfoy's demands and began telling him everything that had happened in the time since leaving school.

At first, Malfoy listened raptly, laughing where appropriate, and asking questions that made Harry feel oddly pleased for some reason, happy that Malfoy was taking such an obvious interest in his life. But after a while, Harry noticed that Malfoy's eyelids were drooping as the laughter and interruptions came less and less frequently. He had been about to suggest that Malfoy go to his own bed so he could sleep when the Slytherin's head suddenly dropped down onto Harry's shoulder, inhalations slow and deep, and it did not take a detective to figure out that Draco was asleep. The sight sent something warm shooting through Harry's chest, making him want to wrap his arms around the sleeping man the same way that Zabini had around Parkinson—protectively. It was a strange thought and Harry did not know what to make of it, but part of him was beginning to recognize that the sort of affection he was discovering he felt for Draco was not exactly simple friendly feelings—it seemed to be deeper than that, and Harry was struggling to wrap his head around that budding realization.

Malfoy shifted in his sleep, curling into Harry's warmth, and the desire to protect Malfoy rose up within him even stronger than before. Flicking his wand, he carefully levitated Malfoy's bed right next to his own, so that if Malfoy turned over at any point in the night, he would not end up rolling off the mattress and onto the floor. Harry did not want to wake him, not even to send him to his own bed. Draco looked so young and peaceful while he slept, and it was an image that Harry knew would stay with him for a very long time. The sight made the brunet want to reach out a finger and stroke Malfoy's cheek, a desire he managed to tamp down before he could give in to it. But the feel of Draco sleeping so trustingly on Harry's shoulder made him smile to himself as he carefully shifted the both of them into a more comfortable position, using his wand to spell the blankets out from beneath them without disturbing the sleeping man.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, Harry reached up to brush the hair from Draco's forehead, smiling as he did so and allowing himself, at least in the privacy of his own mind, to admit that Draco Malfoy really was an intriguing mystery.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p.s. If anyone was wondering, the poem Draco recited is a poem by Christina Rossetti, which is a name that anyone here who has read my previous murder mystery will hopefully recognize. I do so treasure her poetry ♡


	8. An Accumulation of Anguish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _"Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it."_**  
>  —Mary Shelley, _Frankenstein_

Harry felt it the moment Draco began to wake up. His breathing changed as he shifted closer, curling into the brunet as he sighed, and Harry wondered if he should move away before Malfoy woke up completely. What if he awoke only to be horrified at discovering that Harry had allowed him to sleep on his shoulder all night? What if he was disgusted with Harry for not waking him up to allow him the chance to spend the night in his own bed, in his own space?

But the next moment, Draco's eyes were flickering open and it was too late for Harry to do anything other than hold his breath and wait. Malfoy yawned and stretched, clutching at Harry's borrowed pyjama top with one hand and sighing contentedly before burrowing into Harry's chest for nearly a minute before suddenly snapping upright and staring at the brunet with wide eyes.

"Potter," he choked, gazing around in confusion. "What the hell are you doing in my bed?"

Harry raised one eyebrow in amusement. "I think you'll find this is actually my bed, Malfoy."

"What?" Malfoy's nose scrunched up as he looked down at the mattress. "How did I end up here?"

"Are you saying you don't remember last night?" Harry grinned. The light of dawn had not brought with it any sort of clarification on just what exactly his growing feelings for Draco meant, but Harry found that he could not resist teasing the man while he looked so flustered and sleep-soft. His cheeks were pink and his blond hair was mussed, and Harry found he could not look away.

"We were talking last night," Malfoy said haltingly, staring at Harry with suspicious eyes. "That's all that happened."

"And then you fell asleep on my shoulder," Harry shrugged with another wide grin. "Why, Draco? What did you think I meant?"

Draco flushed, muttering something beneath his breath as he looked down at his lap.

"Sorry, what was that?" Harry asked, leaning closer. "I didn't quite catch it." Despite not getting any sleep during the night, Harry was in a surprisingly good mood, considering the circumstances.

"I said, are you always such a prat in the mornings?" Malfoy huffed, twisting his spine with several loud cracks; Harry watched in fascination at the sight of Malfoy's long torso stretching and curving gracefully, at the way his pyjama top rose up just enough to almost show a sliver of pale flesh but never quite high enough to reveal skin, and Harry found himself wanting to glare at the silk fabric.

"I—I dunno," Harry said hoarsely, watching as Malfoy conjured a comb and began combing neatly through the tousled strands of his hair. "Guess you'll have to spend a few more mornings with me to find out." The moment he finished speaking, he felt his cheeks heat in embarrassment as he looked away. God, he hadn't meant to make it sound like that. Why was he now so easily flustered around Malfoy?

Draco looked over at him in surprise before a smile spread across his lips. "If that's what you want, Harry," he said in a low voice, and Harry felt himself shiver at the sound, wondering just what it was about Draco Malfoy that he was so easily affected by. How was Malfoy able to get to him in such a way? "You make a decent pillow," the blond continued, still smiling.

Harry couldn't help but grin back. "Glad I could be of some service to you."

Malfoy's smile seemed to sharpen somehow, like thorns on the stem of a rose, beautiful and dangerous. "I'm sure there are lots of ways you could be of service to me, Harry, if that's what you desire." The final word curled from Draco's mouth like velvet smoke, seductive and sweet, wrapping itself around Harry and making him want to draw closer to the man and all his pretty thorns.

Oh god, these really weren't friendly innocent feelings; Draco really was able to affect him in a way that most other people weren't. What should Harry do? Was Draco flirting with him for real, or as a joke? How could Harry tell the difference? And even if he was able to tell the difference, what did he then do with the information? Did he flirt back or ignore it? Which one would be easier? Which one would be safer? But which one did he want more? Fuck, Harry didn't know!

"So, did we all live through the night then?" a voice drawled several feet away, and Harry and Draco turned to find Zabini sitting up in bed next to a stirring Parkinson, staring at the two of them with an intensity that made Harry uncomfortable. How long had the man been awake? What had he seen and heard? What was he thinking?

"All of us up here, yes," Harry answered, heart pounding furiously. "I haven't been downstairs yet, but I didn't hear a single thing all night."

Zabini said nothing, reaching down to lightly stroke his hand through Parkinson's hair as her eyes slowly opened. She turned a soft smile on him, one that he returned, and it felt like such a private moment that Harry had to turn away, automatically looking to Malfoy only to find the man already staring at him.

"Right, well," Harry croaked, blinking rapidly and turning away from the sight of Malfoy's piercing gaze. "We should probably head down there, yeah? It's our turn to fix breakfast. We can go up to Draco's room first and get showered and changed and everything if you lot want."

"We all still alive then?" Nott asked as he sat up, eyes unexpectedly alert for how early it still was.

"No, Theo," Zabini drawled sarcastically. "Whatever would make you think that?"

"Tosser," Nott yawned, reaching out to shake Davis's shoulder, who grumbled and burrowed deeper into her nest of blankets. "Come on, Trace," he said with another shake. "Time to wake up now, sunshine."

She mumbled something incoherent before rolling farther away from him and promptly falling back to sleep. Parkinson sighed before reaching over to yank the pillow out from under her head. "Wake up, slag," she said, grinning as Davis swatted blindly at her.

"Bitch," she said, stifling a yawn as she sat up and rubbed her eyes.

"Good morning to you too, darling," Parkinson responded, tossing the pillow in her hands to the end of her mattress.

"We all still alive then?" Davis asked, opening bleary eyes to peer around at everybody.

"Yes, our Gryffindor guard dog seems to have done his job," Parkinson said, nodding in Harry's direction.

"Not a guard dog," Harry shook his head. "Also, I thought I was meant to be an honorary Slytherin now."

"Not when you're waking us up so fucking early you're not," Davis said tiredly.

"We were already awake, love," Parkinson pointed out, and Davis flopped back onto the mattress with a groan.

"Not much of a morning person, is she?" said Harry in a dry voice, and the others all shot him a flat look.

"Come on, Tracey," Parkinson coaxed, "we're all going to wash up and get changed. So unless you want to get left up here all on your own…"

Tracey immediately sat up with a glare, throwing back her blankets and climbing to her feet. The other five followed, waving their wands to return their Transfigured beds back into their original items before heading down the nearby stairs. Harry glanced around the large library, looking for any sign of blood or dismemberment, but he could see nothing. Nearby, Hermione and Neville were speaking in low voices while Ron snored lightly next to Hermione.

"Hermione," Harry said quietly, stepping close to her and gesturing for the Slytherins to go on ahead. "Was everything okay down here last night?"

"Yes," she nodded. "Most of them are still sleeping, but Neville and I have been doing head counts every hour and everybody is still alive and accounted for."

"Good," Harry said in relief. Part of him had been terrified that he would walk down that staircase to discover a sea of blood and severed limbs.

"Your group seems to have all made it as well," Hermione said, and Harry nodded.

"Yeah, they're all fine. Nobody tried to come upstairs, so that was good. And I didn't hear a single thing all night."

"No, neither did I," Hermione mused, appearing thoughtful, but there was something almost troubled about her expression.

"Well," Harry finally said, unsure what to make of the look on her face, "I'm going to go meet up with the others. They're all headed up to Malfoy's room to get washed up and then we're going to start on breakfast for everyone."

"All right," Hermione nodded. "When this lot wake up, we'll all get washed up and head to the dining room."

"Okay," Harry agreed, nodding to both Hermione and Neville before turning to exit the library, surprised to find Draco waiting for him near the door.

"The others went on ahead," Malfoy explained, shifting his weight between feet as Harry neared.

"Right," Harry said, uncertain what to make of the fact that Malfoy had waited for him. What did it mean? Was it something done out of courtesy or fear? Or were there deeper reasons behind him waiting for Harry?

"I just—wanted to make sure you didn't get lost," Draco sniffed, sounding uncomfortable as they fell into step beside one another.

"Right," Harry grinned with a shake of his head. "My hero."

"And don't you forget it," Draco agreed, returning the grin.

oOo

Breakfast was silent. Everyone was quiet as they poked at their eggs, staring down at their plates with blank looks. The Slytherins were once more huddled together at one end of the table, not saying anything as they avoided looking at every person in the room. There was an uneasy sort of calm hanging over the room, a quiet that reminded Harry of the still silence before a storm, the strange hush that overtook the earth as dark clouds gathered above. It was the sort of quiet that had the potential to break at any second with a tumultuous crash of lightning before the entire world exploded into chaos and thunder.

The anticipation of pandemonium made Harry feel as though he was only seconds away from crawling out of his skin, and he knew without needing to be told—something bad was in store for them. He could sense it in the air, taste it in the cardboard food, feel it slithering across his flesh like the promise of a threat enveloping him like smoke.

There was something malevolent in that room with them—someone who wanted to see them all harmed.

Glancing around suspiciously, Harry noted that Zacharias was glaring down at his plate of untouched food while Anthony was glaring down the table at the Slytherins. Justin's eyes were narrowed and his face thoughtful as he drummed his fingers against the wooden table impatiently. It was Stephen's expression, however, that Harry couldn't seem to look away from. He wasn't glaring or fidgeting; he didn't appear to be lost in thought or fear like the others. He looked…almost carefully expressionless, like he was trying his hardest to appear blank. His face was impassive and yet…there was something almost calculating buried deep in his eyes that made Harry want to reach for his wand. His instincts were screaming that there was something wrong with that look. The other man appeared to be actively avoiding looking in anybody's direction for too long, but Harry noticed the odd way his gaze kept lingering on Davis and Nott before flicking away. It made Harry more than uneasy, but he had no idea what to actually make of it. Glancing at others was hardly enough to condemn a man, after all.

After what felt like entire lifetimes of uncomfortable silence interspersed with the scraping of metal against glass as everyone pushed their food around their plates without really eating, they finally all seemed to decide as a group to nudge their plates away from themselves. Breakfast ended with nothing more than another final caution from Hermione to remain around as many other people as possible before the room was full of the sound of chairs screeching across the floor as everyone rose from their seats. Half the group began to gather the dishes and take them to be cleaned as the other half began to wander aimlessly from the room.

Where was everyone going?

"Are you coming, Potter?" a quiet voice asked, and Harry looked to his left to find Malfoy staring at him.

"Er, sorry, what?" he asked, attempting to shake the sticky cobwebs from his mind.

"We're going back upstairs," Zabini explained, shooting the non-Slytherins a distrustful look. "We're going back to Draco's room. We plan on staying in the one place that nobody has managed to be killed in."

"Yeah, unfortunately," Smith muttered nearby, and Harry wanted to groan in frustration as Zabini took an automatic step in his direction.

"What was that, Smith?" he asked dangerously, wand clenched tightly in one fist.

"Zach," Entwhistle cautioned, but Zacharias shook him off.

"No," he said loudly. "No, it's time someone finally said it. The only reason that none of you have died is because all of _you_ are the ones who are doing the fucking killing! Of course it's not going to be the killers who get killed! The only reason nobody died last night was because Potter was standing guard over you lot to make sure that none of you managed to sneak away and kill one of us!"

"Zacharias," Harry warned, but Zabini was already speaking.

"If we were the ones killing everyone, Smith," he said coldly, "what the hell makes you think you would still be alive to be accusing us of it right now?"

"You would have been first on the list if it was us," Nott drawled, disdain dripping from his every word. "You probably would have been the only one on the list, Smith, if it was one of us."

"See, Potter!" Smith cried, eyes gleaming. "How many threats does that make against me now from them? And you're still going to do nothing?"

"You're the one threatening us!" Parkinson snapped.

"Oh, you'll know when I threaten you," Zacharias glared, and Zabini's face twisted in rage.

"Enough!" Harry barked, slamming one fist down on the table and succeeding in capturing everyone's attention. "Zacharias, I warned you already to stop instigating!"

Smith's eyes flashed. "They're the ones who just told me they want to see me dead!"

"I don't think there's any denying the fact that most of us here would like to see you dead," Nott retorted. "In fact, I might even be willing to pay whoever is responsible to take you out next."

"See?!" Smith cried dramatically. "He just said I'm next!"

"Then stop making yourself the loudest fucking target in the house," Zabini growled. "It's not our fault you're an unlikeable twat who makes enemies out of everyone by being the most insufferable fucking cunt to ever string a bloody sentence together!"

"You better hope none of us really is the killer, Smith," Nott added, eyes narrowed. "Because the more you run your mouth towards us, the more likely it is that you really will be next."

"He just threatened me _again_ , Potter!" Zacharias turned to Harry. "Fucking do something already!"

Harry opened his mouth to respond but closed it as Malfoy rose from his seat with a hard look on his face. "Need I remind you, Smith," he began in an icy voice, "that you are in my home, eating my food and drinking my water and using my facilities. If it would make you feel safer to be removed from our company, I would be more than happy to set you up in the cellar, where you needn't worry about running into another living person, malicious or otherwise." The words made Harry shiver as he recalled the feeling of being trapped in that very same cellar, along with the memory of the stack of blood-soaked bodies still residing down there. "But I'm done being accused by you. Granger was right when she said that you really are dependent on us for basics such as food. Remember that the next time you decide to open your fucking mouth."

"So that's your new threat now?" Smith demanded, face flushing red. "You're going to kill me by starving me to death?"

"I'm merely reminding you that your words carry consequences," Malfoy said, eyes narrowed. "I'm simply advising you to remember that before speaking, is all."

"You have to feed me," Smith said smugly, folding his arms across his chest. "The others won't let you get away with withholding food from people just because they make you angry."

Malfoy smiled coldly. "You assume that I in any way need to open my kitchen to a single person here, Smith. You don't seem to realize that I am more than capable of closing down any part of this house at any time I like, courtesy of being the only person here tuned into the wards. Now I'm more than willing to feed those who are here on my invitation, but I am long past tired of hearing insults and accusations cast my way directly after giving that same accuser food from my personal stores."

Smith's face paled. "Potter won't let you do that. He won't let you get away with that. None of the others will either."

Both men turned to Harry expectantly, making Harry sigh. "Draco," he said quietly, giving the blond a pointed look, but Malfoy just stared back. Sighing again, Harry turned back to Zacharias. "He's right, Smith. He doesn't technically have to feed any of us, especially anyone that he has reason to be suspicious of. So unless you've figured out a way to break the rules of magic and Conjure your own food, you need to learn how to pick your battles a bit better."

"Some fucking Auror you are," Smith spat, looking incensed. "Siding with the Slytherins as always, hmm? Real fucking surprise there, Potter!"

Harry opened his mouth to ask when he had ever sided with the Slytherins before two days ago, but Nott was speaking before he could.

"You really want to be locked down in that cellar, don't you, Smith?" he drawled, slanting the Hufflepuff a disgusted look. "Trust me when I tell you, you won't like what you find down there. I'd be careful when speaking if I were you, unless you really do want to find out what's waiting for you down there in the dark. Because I, personally, would have no problem throwing you down those stairs without a wand and leaving you to stumble blindly around in growing fear and growing hunger until you finally find what's in the wine room. We may even happen to just forget you're down there once we find a way out of here. Wouldn't that be fun for you, to be left behind in the dark like that, with no food, no water, no wand, and no way out?" His quiet words succeeded in capturing the attention of everybody in the room. Smith's eyes grew wider and wider with every smooth word that fell from Nott's lips.

"You wouldn't," he said uncertainly, glancing around at the others for support; nobody said a word.

"Fucking try us," Nott responded. "I'll help Draco drag you down there myself if you keep pushing this."

Zacharias glared. "I hope you're next, Nott. I can't wait to see what the killer does to you."

Nott barked a scathing laugh. "I thought you said it was one of us though, Smith? I thought you said it was all of us. I'm hardly going to off myself just to prove a point, now am I?"

"That's enough," Harry said sharply. "No more threats from anyone! I fucking mean it!" Zacharias opened his mouth to respond, but Harry continued before he could. "And Smith, you need to learn how and when to keep your mouth shut, do you understand me? Hermione and I both meant it when we said we won't stand for anyone throwing accusations around or inciting panic. So I'm going to warn you one last time—keep your thoughts to yourself."

Zacharias glared but said nothing. "Good," Harry nodded. "Now come on, you lot," he gestured to the Slytherins. "I think you were right about going back upstairs."

Expressions tight, they nodded and began to shuffle from the room, Harry lingering behind to bring up the rear. But as he swept from the room, his gaze once again locked onto Stephen's, and the sight of his face made Harry's stomach twist. It was once again expressionless, but his eyes were sharp as they followed Nott from the room, and Harry couldn't help but wonder if Stephen had ever once moved his gaze from the man.

oOo

"You lot stay here," Harry said as the door to Malfoy's room swung open. "I need to go find Ron and Hermione and talk to them about a few things."

All five Slytherins paused. "You're leaving us here?" Parkinson asked, one eyebrow raised. "Alone? After all that shit that just happened?"

"You'll be fine," the brunet assured. "Nobody else knows where this room is and you lot can ward it behind yourselves."

"You can't wander around on your own," Malfoy reminded him, stepping closer with narrowed eyes. "You're the one who keeps bloody saying that, Potter."

"I'll be fine," Harry promised. "But I really do need to talk to them, and I'll feel better about all of you being here together, somewhere safe where I know where you all are."

"You can't wander around on your own," Malfoy insisted, shifting closer. "It's not safe."

"I'll be fine," Harry repeated, lowering his voice. "Just stay here and I'll be back. I promise that I'll be okay."

Draco stared at him for several seconds. "You fucking better be," he said quietly, eyes searching Harry's face, and Harry had to turn from the inspection before his entire body combusted.

"Lock the door after me and ward it," he said. "I'll knock four times and say 'quidditch' when I come back, yeah, and you'll know it's safe to open the door." Harry paused, waiting until the others had agreed before he continued. The sound of the door closing behind him sent chills shooting down his spine and he glanced around himself, suddenly rethinking the wisdom of venturing out on his own. The hallway felt cold and eerie around him, leaving him with the familiar prickling sensation of being watched.

Huffing, he set off, trying to shake the creeping feeling from his flesh. Of course he was being watched—half the portraits in the hallway were eyeing him with curious disdain. But still…there was something that didn't quite feel right…almost as if the shadows had eyes…as if the walls could hear his every breath…

"So, this is where you're hiding them then?" a voice suddenly asked, and Harry nearly jumped as he turned to face it. A figure was stepping out from the shadows and Harry felt himself both tense and relax at the sight of Zacharias stepping away from the wall. "This is where they've been holing up?" Using his chin, he gestured back to Malfoy's bedroom door.

"You followed us?" Harry asked flatly, tightening his grip on his wand. What the hell was Zacharias doing there? Why had he followed them and why had he left his partner behind?

"I wanted to know where they kept going," Smith shrugged. "They threatened me today."

"A confrontation you started," Harry reminded him coolly, crossing his arms.

"Stop acting like they're so fucking innocent," Smith said in a low voice. "They're the guiltiest ones here, Potter, a fact that you seem to have conveniently forgotten."

"I haven't forgotten anything," Harry said in a dangerous voice. He could feel the hairs on his arms standing up as his pulse increased. He wasn't sure why Smith was there, but Harry knew that he did not trust the man. "But if they really are as horrible and deadly as you seem to think, Smith, then why the hell are you even here in the first place? Why accept the invitation if you think so little of them? I mean—" he continued as Zacharias opened his mouth to speak, "obviously you had to trust them at least a little bit, otherwise you would never even have considered coming here. But you did. Of your own free will. Nobody made you come here, nobody twisted your arm. This victim act you keep putting on is getting old. You have nobody to blame for your being here but yourself."

"I came for one reason, Potter," Smith sneered, "and that was to watch Malfoy and the others grovel for everybody's forgiveness. I wanted to see what they looked like as they begged the others for pity or any sort of scrap of acknowledgment. I came to watch them get hated and rejected at their own fucking party. That's why I'm here."

The answer made Harry shake his head with disgust. "You are every bit the wanker you always were."

"And yet I'm not the one needing to beg the entire world for forgiveness," the other man shot back. "I'm allowed out in public. I'm not the one getting spat on in the streets. You can't be friends with filth like _that_ ," he gestured toward Malfoy's room, "and still look down on others, Potter."

"Watch me," Harry said coldly, glaring at the blond. He wasn't quite sure if he would call himself friends with the Slytherins, but he was surprised at how little he minded their company. He certainly minded it a lot less than spending time around someone such as Zacharias Smith. "Now move, Smith. We're going downstairs."

"You can't make me go anywhere," Smith said, eyes narrowed.

"Watch me," Harry repeated, lifting his wand in warning. "I don't trust you anywhere near them, so get your arse downstairs, _now_."

For several seconds neither of them moved, both men standing still as they glowered at one another, but eventually, Smith turned and began to stomp his way back downstairs. Sighing heavily, Harry lowered his wand and followed, wondering what it meant or how it would change things now that Zacharias knew where the Slytherins were hiding.

oOo

"I don't trust him, Hermione," Harry later said, once the three Gryffindors were ensconced in a private study. He glanced around the room, wondering if this had been Lucius's study when the man had still been alive. The room was paneled in dark wood and cased with bookshelves. The three of them were sat around a large desk with golden handles, the top covered in curled scrolls, pots of ink, and expensive-looking quills. A newly-lit fire was crackling behind Harry in the grate while across from him, a rectangular window showed a view of the expansive grounds stretched out around the house. The outside world was drenched in grey sunlight and autumnal wind, looking close enough to touch, close enough to lean into. All that separated them from the outside was nothing more than a thin sheet of glass, one that looked so easy to shatter and escape through, but Harry knew it was not that simple.

Leaning back, he heard the leather chair he was sat in creak as he gazed at the onyx vase of dried flowers next to his elbow on the desk, a sort of pointed white petal that Harry was unsure of the name of. Nearby, a set of dusty bloodred drapes hung heavy and silent where they framed the unreachable outside world. A black metal bookstand stood before the window, holding a large tome of what appeared to be ancient wizarding bloodlines, and the sight made Harry's stomach clench in discomfort. The entire room made Harry want to shy away as he thought of young Draco being sat before the large imposing desk in silence as he listened to his father recite wizarding bloodlines between lectures about what it meant to be a Malfoy.

The room made Harry feel sad, and he did not like being in it. The house felt drenched in sorrow and sadness just as heavy and clinging as the shadows that stuck to its every surface, just as ominous as the creak in the floorboards and the hushed whispering behind every curtain. Harry couldn't seem to shake the feeling of being watched, no matter where he went or how hard he tried. It felt as though the entire house had eyes on all of them.

"What's he done this time?" Hermione's voice interrupted his melancholic downward spiral.

Right. Zacharias. "Oh, er, he threatened the Slytherins again today," Harry explained, rubbing the back of his neck. "He started in on the accusations as soon as all you lot left to clear up breakfast and then started crying victim as soon as the Slytherins responded."

"Of course he did, the berk," Ron snorted, shaking his head. "Christ, he just doesn't learn, does he?"

"Draco didn't take it too well," Harry sighed. "He started threatening to withhold food if Smith kept it up, and then Smith of course turns to me and demands that I protect him from any sort of consequences for his actions."

"Do you really think he will withhold food from him?" Hermione asked in concern.

Harry shrugged. "I mean, he might. I don't actually think he will, but you can't really blame him if he does, can you? He and Nott also threatened to lock Smith in the cellar if he kept being such a prat."

"I might actually be willing to help them out on that one," Ron muttered. "Lord knows it would be quieter up here if he were stuck down there."

"Nobody is locking anybody away," Hermione said sharply, startling both boys.

"We know that," Ron frowned. "Of course nobody is getting locked away just because they're acting like irritating gits. But still, Hermione…think of the quiet."

"This is bad," Hermione shook her head. "This is not going to end well if both sides are so openly trading threats."

"That's not all," Harry sighed. "Zacharias followed us upstairs. He knows where Draco's bedroom is and where all the Slytherins have been hiding."

"He followed you?" Hermione asked, slanting him an intense look. "By himself?"

Harry nodded. "I mean, I doubt he'd be stupid enough to try anything by himself since there are five of them and one of him, but still…just the fact that he knows where they are is enough to make me uneasy."

"I agree," Hermione mused. "It's troubling, to say the least. Why would he need to know where they are unless he was planning on doing something with the information? Why would he feel it worth the risk of wandering around by himself just to learn such a thing unless he was planning on putting the knowledge to use?"

"I think the real question is how he felt so comfortable taking such a risk," Harry said quietly. "He wasn't scared when he confronted me about it, Hermione. And we all know what a coward he really is. There's no way he would have gone off by himself if he thought there was any risk to it. And if he felt it wasn't a risk to his safety to follow us just to find out where they were, then…"

"Maybe that's why none of the Slytherins have died yet," Ron cut in. "Because nobody could find them and none of them have been daft enough to wander off by themselves. Maybe Smith has just been waiting to be led there. And now that he knows where they are—"

"It's still not enough to point fingers," Hermione interrupted. "I know that none of us like Zacharias, but do you really think he's the type of person horrible enough to be able to murder his acquaintances in cold blood?"

Ron and Harry stared at her.

"Okay, let me rephrase," she conceded. "Do you really think him _clever_ enough to be able to kill three of us here and still have gotten away with it?"

"Maybe this is where he stops getting away with it," Harry shrugged. "The invitations to this thing went out nearly two months ago—whoever is behind it has had plenty of time to get a plan in motion."

"True," Hermione conceded, "but do you really think Zacharias is patient enough for something like this? And why would he want to kill our classmates?"

"Maybe it's not about them," Harry said slowly. "Maybe none of the murders actually have to do with any of the ones who have died. Maybe it's about making the Slytherins look guilty. Zacharias was right when he said that the world doesn't trust them. Maybe he didn't like the thought of them getting the forgiveness they asked for and figured all it would take to get them locked away forever was to make them look like they were the ones killing everyone. Maybe all the bloodshed is just a way to frame them."

"I don't know," Hermione disagreed, tapping one finger against the desktop. "Multiple killings just to frame a group of people that the world already doesn't trust? It's not the strongest motive."

"Then the only other explanation is that those three were targeted specifically," Harry pointed out. "Either the killings are incidental and random, or the victims are being personally targeted."

"Well, it can't be the second one," Ron frowned. "I mean, Hannah, Mandy, and Terry? Come on, there's nobody who would want to see them dead. Especially over someone like Smith or any of the Slytherins. If we're going in terms of least popular, it'd definitely be that lot at the top of the list."

"Unless it's Zacharias who's behind it," Harry said quietly.

"Yes, but he would've started with the Slytherins."

"Unless he was doing it just to frame them."

"Enough," Hermione said, sounding exhausted. "All we have right now to go on is speculation. We have absolutely nothing solid. The only facts we know for sure are that none of the Slytherins were in the room the night that Mandy was killed, so for argument's sake, we can take them off the list of suspects for the moment and focus on the others. Now, out of that list of remaining suspects, we can cross Terry off for obvious reasons. I also know for a fact that it was none of us who killed her. That still leaves thirteen others it could have been. I feel fairly confident that we can exclude Neville from the list. But I think what we really need to be focusing on are any connections between the three victims. Do either of you know of any existing ties between them?"

"Mandy and Terry were both in Ravenclaw," Harry offered helplessly.

"Yes, but from what I understand, they weren't terribly close," Hermione said. "And I talked to Susan, who said that she never knew Hannah to really have any sort of contact with either of the other two."

"Maybe they don't have connections," Ron spoke up. "At least not with one another. Maybe they're not connected to each other, but to someone else."

"Like to the person who did this," Hermione said slowly. "You're saying the real connection between them all might be an outside individual tying them together."

"Yeah," Ron shrugged. "And maybe none of them even knew they were all connected through that person."

"Yes, but who might that be?" Hermione mused. "Out of everyone here, who would be connected to those three?"

"They didn't really have any common friends," Harry said. "I mean, Mandy and Terry are both connected to the other Ravenclaws, but I dunno if Hannah was ever really friends with any of that lot."

"Maybe not a friend," Hermione shook her head. "Maybe it's a connection of a different sort. Maybe a childhood acquaintance, or even a common enemy."

"Those three?" Ron snorted. "Please, Hermione, none of them had a single enemy, let alone the _same_ enemy."

"Hannah and Terry were both in the D.A.," Harry suggested. "They both fought in the final battle."

"Yes, but not Mandy," Hermione said, appearing thoughtful as she fiddled with a lock of her hair. "That would have been my first guess as well for the connection if not for the fact that Mandy had no part in it."

"Maybe Mandy wasn't the real target," Harry said suddenly, sitting up in his chair. "Remember what Padma said? How they had fallen asleep right next to each other? Maybe it was really Padma they had meant to kill. I mean, it was dark. It was really dark in that room. Maybe whoever it was had gotten the beds mixed up. Both girls have dark hair."

"Yeah, but that's about as similar as their appearances get," Ron pointed out. "I mean, the only other girl here that you could really mix Padma up with is Parvati."

"Yes, who was on the other side of Padma," Harry said in growing excitement. "Maybe whoever it was thought that Padma had been Parvati and had then automatically gone for the girl in the bed right next to her, thinking that _that_ girl was Padma! It might even have been Parvati they were trying to kill!"

"I suppose that's possible," Hermione allowed, tapping her chin in thought. "I would agree that targeting the members of the D.A. would be a more plausible motivation than random killings."

"Yeah, but why?" Ron cut in. "Why target the D.A.? Most of the people here were in the D.A."

"Then maybe we should look at the ones who weren't," Harry shrugged.

"Well," Hermione said, pulling a blank parchment toward her and unfurling it before unscrewing the lid off a pot of ink and plucking one of the fancy quills out of its holder, and Harry wanted to laugh at the dark irony of Hermione using one of Lucius Malfoy's personal quills. Bending over the parchment, she began to scribble names down across the surface. "The only ones here who were not in the D.A. other than the Slytherins are Stephen, Lisa, Mandy, and Kevin."

"Stephen was late for the dinner," Harry reminded them, "even though we have no idea what time he actually showed up. He would have had more than enough time to dispose of the hired staff and spike one of the drinks before heading into the dining room with the others. He was in the room when Mandy got killed, _and_ he was Terry's partner. He was the last one to see Terry alive."

"Susan was in the D.A.," Hermione said, biting her lip. "And she's been paired with two of the people on our list."

"Shit," Harry said, jumping to his feet. "We need to go find them!"

"I'm not really sure if this is actually anything to go off of, though," Hermione frowned. "This is still nothing more than speculation."

"Maybe it is, but it's better than nothing!"

"You're right," Hermione conceded as she rose from her chair. "I think the best thing to do would be to assign Neville to stick with Stephen, Lisa, and Susan and keep an eye on them. Ron and I will also keep an eye on Stephen, but we can't let it slip that we in any way suspect him. Because whether he is or is not guilty, outright suspicion of anyone will only lead to panic and danger."

"You say that like we're not incredibly sneaky people," Ron scoffed.

"Of course not, Ronald Weasley," Hermione deadpanned, "nobody embodies subtlety more than you."

"Too bloody right," he said smugly, puffing out his chest. She sighed and shook her head, lips twitching, before flicking her wand and sending the scroll with the list of suspects into the fire.

"We should probably get back," she said uneasily, eyes flicking to the door. "I don't like leaving them for too long."

"Because you're afraid they're fighting or because you're afraid that another person's gone missing?" Ron asked dryly.

"Both," she said simply. "Harry, you're welcome to head back upstairs to check on the Slytherins if you would like."

"I still can't believe you're spending so much time with that lot," Ron shook his head. "I mean, what the hell do you even talk about with them?"

"They're not a bad sort," Harry shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. For some reason, he did not want to admit how okay he really was being around the five Slytherins.

"Yeah, but what do you talk about?" Ron pressed.

"Oh, you know," Harry waved one hand casually, "politics, ethics, blood purity, current events, social status, those sorts of things."

"Right," Ron grinned. "The usual sorts of things, sure."

"How are you and Malfoy getting along?" Hermione asked, snapping all attention onto her.

"Fine," Harry said, shifting uncomfortably. At the question, he couldn't help but think back to the previous night, how Malfoy had climbed into his bed to talk or the way he had fallen asleep with his head on Harry's shoulder. Harry did not want to admit to either Ron or Hermione how he had not only allowed such things to happen, but had also liked it. He couldn't help but think of his confessions to Draco about his childhood and his secret of kissing another man, something that Hermione had never been told about and that Ron had been too pissed to notice. He did not want to admit to his best friends that Draco Malfoy now knew things about Harry that Harry had never before told another living person; he did not want to admit to them that a large part of himself liked the fact that he and Draco were somehow growing closer by the minute. Part of Harry had always wondered what it would have been like if he and Malfoy had been friends during Hogwarts. He used to sometimes lay awake at night wondering if he had been sorted Slytherin, would he and Draco have ever been close? Or would they only have hated each other from less of a distance? Harry had used to wonder a lot about what it would have been like to have shared a dorm with Draco Malfoy. Would they have stayed up late into the night, whispering to one another like they did last night?

Harry had no idea.

"We're getting along fine," he said again, trying to ignore the contemplative look that Hermione was giving him.

"God, I still don't know why you chose him as your partner," Ron shook his head. "I mean, you could have been with Neville or someone, mate. I'm sure that Padma and Parvati would have loved to have had you with them, considering the fact that Parvati won't stop staring at you."

"What?" Harry asked in confusion, momentarily sidetracked. Parvati didn't stare at him. If she had ever once had any sort of interest in him, it had certainly all vanished the disastrous night of the Yule Ball.

"You could have been with Seamus and Dean," Ron continued, "or me and Hermione."

"Draco needed a partner," Harry explained, feeling uncomfortable once more. "I mean, you lot ditched me to be a couple, and Draco's friends ditched him to be a couple, so…"

"So the two of you decided to be a couple," Ron snorted, but Harry didn't laugh.

"I was worried about him," he said quietly. "I just—I figured that he would be the obvious target, you know? Because despite whatever anybody out there thinks, I don't believe it's him behind all this. But I know that most of the others do. So I just…"

"You wanted to protect him," Hermione said sadly, in a voice even quieter than Harry's had been. "Oh, Harry…"

"No, I just…I—" Harry floundered uselessly, unsure what to follow that up with. Had he wanted to protect Draco? He supposed that he did; he certainly did not want to see any harm come to the man. But what did that mean? Did that have to mean something as significant as what Hermione's tone had implied? Harry wanted to protect everyone; he did not want to see any harm come to a single person. "I should probably get back," he muttered, gesturing toward the door. He had no idea what anything meant anymore; all he knew was that the longer he was away from Malfoy and the others, the more anxious it was making him, especially now that Zacharias knew where they were. How long before Smith told all the others? What if they all took it upon themselves to form an angry mob outside Draco's bedroom door? What if they were there right now? Harry took a step toward the door. "You two go find the others and make sure they're still okay. I'll go back upstairs and—"

But before Harry could finish the sentence, he was interrupted by a bloodcurdling scream.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no! Screams that curdle blood are the worst kind of screams to be trapped in a house with! Any suspicions on the killer yet, darlings? Or their motivation? Any guesses on who the scream came from or who will be the next to die? Any thoughts on your local weather or any new year's resolutions you've accomplished and/or given up on that you would like to talk about? I'm here to listen :)


	9. In a Bloodless Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg it's so hard to choose introductory quotes sometimes! Aah!
> 
> Buuut I finally did, so here it is right now!
> 
> **_"His was not the hatred that arises suddenly like a storm and as suddenly abates. It was, once the initial shock of anger and pain was over, a calculated thing that grew in a bloodless way."_** —Mervyn Peak, _Titus Groan_

_Not Draco! Please not Draco!_ Harry thought to himself as he tore from the room, following the sound of the echoed shrieks ringing off the walls. Logically, he knew that Draco was barricaded in his bedroom behind layers of magic, but there was an uneasy feeling that had settled deep in Harry's gut telling him that the Slytherins were not safe.

"Where's it coming from?!" Ron's voice shouted behind him.

"Further up ahead!" Harry yelled. The screaming had stopped but Harry thought he could hear sobbing coming from somewhere along the darkened corridor. Oh god, who was it this time? Who had been killed?

Forcing his legs to move faster, Harry sprinted past the empty doorways and the watchful shadows, doing his best to ignore the way they all seemed to be looking at him with wide, gaping eyes. Every shadow in the corridor seemed to turn to follow him with sightless stares as he ran past, feeling the silent gazes of the portraits scrape his skin with black fingernails. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears, feel the adrenaline surging through his veins as his heart hammered in his chest. Over the ringing in his ears, he could hear wailing and sobbing up ahead.

Then, suddenly, everything went quiet. Without warning, the cries were cut off, leaving the corridor in deafening silence. Harry instantly slowed, tightening his hold on his wand and moving forward with caution. Beside him, he could hear Hermione and Ron taking careful steps as their breathing gradually evened.

Everything was quiet; nothing made a sound. The shadows had gone still and silent. The only thing Harry could hear was the stuttered beats of his own heart thumping against his chest.

"Harry," Hermione said quietly, reaching out to pull him to a stop. She gestured up ahead with her chin, and Harry's head snapped in that direction, noting instantly what Hermione was looking at. A door farther down the corridor was open, the interior dark, but Harry could just make out what appeared to be an unmoving foot extending past the threshold and into the hall.

The three of them reached the door and paused, gazing down at the still foot for a moment before Harry pushed the door the rest of the way open. It swung inward with a loud _creeeak_ , sending icy chills shooting down his spine at the ominous sound. The room inside was pitch-black, and not even the grey light seeping in from the corridor was enough to tell who the foot belonged to.

"Lumos," Ron murmured, and the three of them gasped as the body came into sight.

Susan Bones was lying dead on the floor.

oOo

"Susan," Harry whispered, gazing down at her cold blank face in horror. Her eyes were glassy and half-open, peering up at the ceiling with a vacancy that made Harry shiver. Her body was stretched out on the ground, limbs akimbo and auburn hair spread out over the icy tile of the floor like a copper puddle. Her skin looked unnaturally frozen and pale, the light from Ron's wand casting her face at haunting angles and making her appear skeletal and gaunt. The sight sent another shiver racing down Harry's spine. What the hell had happened to her? Why was she alone? Where were Lisa and Stephen?

"Who screamed?" Ron said suddenly, eyes darting around the three of them. "I don't see any blood or any broken bones or any sign that she was attacked openly. So why would she be screaming like that? And why was she crying? Why would she—" a sudden gasp from Ron cut off his own words as he lifted his wand higher, stepping farther into the room, and Hermione automatically added light from her own wand as well, sending the glowing ball up to hover near the ceiling and illuminate everything in flickering shadows, ones that appeared to twitch and jolt and watch the three of them from every darkened corner.

Stepping carefully over Susan's body, Harry felt his stomach drop as his eyes swept around the room before locking on the far wall. How had it taken them all so long to notice the bathtub? Harry hadn't even noticed at first that it was a bathroom they were standing in. How had it taken them all so long to notice the second body?

Several feet away, an old-fashioned clawfoot tub sat atop matching white tiles, tucked into a corner of the room across from a snow-colored sink with large brass taps. But none of that was what had drawn their attention.

Drifting closer to the tub in horror, Harry heard a slapping sound beneath his foot and glanced down to see a large pool of water spread across the floor, creeping closer to Susan's unmoving body with every ripple that Harry's footsteps spread across its surface with a wet, audible sound. Lifting his own wand, Harry cast a Lumos as well and took a breath before peering down at the bathtub. It was full of water, nearly spilling over the lip of the white porcelain. The face of the water was completely still and unmoving, not a single swell rippling across its surface; it was as still as death, as unmoving as a stone, and just as silent and motionless as the unstirring body of Lisa Turpin lying at the very bottom, gazing up at him with wide, empty eyes, hollow and blank, not a single flicker of life within them. She looked waxy and somehow false, somehow wrong, as though her body had never been alive and was now something fake only pretending to have existed as a real person.

How could this be Lisa? How could Lisa be dead? She was still fully clothed; she had clearly not gone into the bathtub of her own free will.

And where the _fuck_ was Stephen?

"Lisa," Hermione breathed somewhere behind Harry, and he half-turned his head to glance at her.

"Lisa and Susan," he said quietly, looking back down at Lisa's pale face, appearing ghostly and eerie buried beneath a wall of water. He couldn't help but be reminded of visiting the black lake with Dumbledore and seeing dead faces peering up at him through the still water.

The memory made him shudder.

"Two more," Ron said as he stepped close as well. "Two more now dead. Where the hell is Stephen?"

"That makes three of his partners who've now died," Harry said listlessly. "That's too many to be ignored. One is chance, two is coincidence, but three…three is a pattern. Three is on purpose."

"Unless someone is targeting him on purpose to make him look guilty," Hermione mused, staring down at Lisa with a sad expression.

"No, Harry's right," Ron said in a hard voice. "It can't be coincidence or random chance. We need to find Stephen. We need to check his wand. We need to put him somewhere where he can't do this again!"

"Yes, we certainly do need to find him," Hermione began, hesitating for a moment, "and speak to him at length. But what if…"

"What if what?" Ron asked in a voice as soft and unforgiving as a stone, eyes narrowed as he glanced between Susan on the floor and Lisa in the bathtub.

"Well, for one, you're assuming he's still alive," Hermione pointed out. "He could also be dead. But I worry even more if he's guilty."

"What?" Ron asked incredulously. "Why would you worry more? That would mean we found the one doing this! That would be a good thing, Hermione!"

"Yes, I agree," she nodded. "And I want to find the guilty one, I really, really do. But I worry what the others will do once they actually have a target for their rage and grief."

"They'll do what he deserves," Ron growled. "How many of us has he killed already, Hermione? And you're worried about _his_ life?!"

"Not his," she sighed. "What if the reveal of the murderer sets off a spark that begins an entire flame of violence? What if some of the others decide to turn on each other as a result? You have to admit that trust within this group has been strained to the breaking point. Stephen has friends here. What if everyone decides they can't trust their friends? What if they all decide they can't trust a single person here? I don't know, there's just a part of me that worries that once there's a clear target in sight, every one of us will allow fear and anger to take control in our attempts to reach that target. That's something that wouldn't turn out well for a single one of us."

"So what are you saying, though, Hermione?" Harry said, quiet words seeming to bounce off the tiled floor and echo around the room. "Are you saying we shouldn't do anything about it if he _is_ the guilty one?"

"No, of course not," she replied. "We absolutely need to do something about it. I'm just not sure of the best way to handle this. Because if we announce to everyone else that he's guilty, that may just cause an upset that we won't be able to control. But if we simply lock him somewhere and don't tell the others where he is, then they may just go through us to get to him. Everyone here is terrified for their lives. And there's nothing more dangerous than a person backed into a corner by fear. I just…I'm just worried."

"Well, I think we should find him first," Ron said firmly. "We should find him and talk to him and then decide what to do."

"Yes," she agreed. "Yes, the best thing for now would be to find him as quickly as we can."

"Let's go then." But despite Harry's words, he was not able to tear his eyes from Lisa's face or lift his feet from the floor, almost as though it was not water coating the tile but glue, sticking his shoes to the floor and holding him trapped. Lisa's mouth was slightly open, but not a single bubble or hint of air escaped through it. Harry wondered if she had been drowned in the tub or killed beforehand, in the same way as Susan. Had she been forced into the tub before dying or had she fallen in afterward? Had her corpse been pushed in by whoever had done this? And had they filled the tub with the purpose of killing her in it, or had she filled it with the intention to bathe?

Fuck, Harry needed answers. They needed to find Stephen. He needed to track down Stephen and get his answers and then he needed to run to Malfoy's bedroom to make sure the man was all right.

"Let's go," he repeated grimly, forcing his numbed feet from the wet floor with a loud squelching sound that seemed to ring from every surface, reminding Harry of the sound something made when pulled from thick mud, even though it was nothing but a thin layer of clear water beneath his feet. "Let's go."

oOo

"Harry!" a woman's voice said, the single word sounding to be a strange mixture of fear and relief.

Before Harry could respond, a warm body was suddenly wrapped around him, and he gazed down at dark hair in surprise. Parvati seemed to have thrown herself into his arms, and he blinked for several moments before patting her awkwardly on the shoulder.

"Er, it's okay," he said uncertainly, shooting Ron and Hermione a helpless look over Parvati's shoulder.

"We heard screaming," she explained, pulling back even to look him in the eyes. "And then it just stopped! What happened? Who was it? God, I'm so glad you're okay!"

Taking a bigger step back, Harry began to scan the small parlor they had found them in to see who was present. From what he could tell, the only five in there were the other four Gryffindors and Padma. Where was everyone else?

"Where is everyone?" Ron wondered, eyes narrowed as he glanced around. "Why is it only the five of you lot in here?"

"Everyone else is in the snooker room," Neville explained, leaning forward on the sofa he was sat on. "But none of the girls wanted to go, so Seamus, Dean, and I stayed behind with them. Lisa wanted a bath, though, while the bathrooms were empty, so Susan went with her."

At the somber, uneasy glance Harry, Ron, and Hermione all shared between themselves, Neville visibly tensed. "Oh, god," he breathed. "What happened to them? Which of them was it?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "It was both of them," she said softly. "We found both of them in a bathroom a bit farther down the hall."

"Both of them?" Padma asked weakly. "Both of them died? There've never been two people killed at the same time. It's always been one at a time. They c-can't both be dead! That isn't fair! They weren't alone!"

"Fuck," Seamus swore. "Fuck! I knew we should have gone! But—"

"But they wanted to bathe," Dean said in a subdued voice. "And they insisted they would be okay…the loo they were headed to isn't far…"

"We should have gone with them," Padma sniffed, swiping at her glistening eyes. "Parvati and I could have gone in the bathroom with them. We could've been there—we _should've_ —"

"It might not have made a difference other than your lives being lost as well," Hermione said kindly, but Harry could hear something deeper beneath her words. "They had somehow been cornered in a bathroom. And we're not sure if they had been attacked just as they were entering or if whoever had done it had gotten inside after they had locked it. We just don't know enough right now to be able to do more than speculate."

"Please tell me you have at least _some_ idea of who might be doing this," Parvati pleaded, stepping forward to clutch at Harry's collar with desperate fingers. "Please! Please, I can't—" she paused to weep against Harry's shoulder, "I can't take this anymore! I can't handle constantly wondering who's going to be next! I can't handle the feeling that it's going to be me or Padma! I can't handle feeling like—" she broke off with a gasp, her breath quickening as she grasped at Harry's shirt with panicked hands.

Placing the tip of his wand between her shoulder blades, Harry murmured a spell, forcing her lungs to fill with air. She released it a moment later with a quiet gasp, and he did it again and again until her breathing had normalized and her frantic fingers had softened in the fabric of his shirt.

"It's okay, Parvati," he whispered, knowing that the situation was anything but okay. Parvati was right to panic. "It'll be okay. You and Padma are still alive, you're still okay."

"Yeah, Parvati," Seamus said from the sofa, "we're all still here."

"Seamus and I won't let you and Padma out of our sights," Dean promised. "We swear it."

"Not even to let you girls take a wee, no matter how much you insist on going alone," Seamus added before frowning. "Erm, sorry actually, that sounded a lot more comforting and a lot less creepy in my head."

Parvati snorted, tears still streaming down her cheeks. "But when do you not sound creepy, Seamus?" she responded weakly.

"Yeah, why change now?" Dean joked, but his eyes were red and his voice was scratchy and Harry could see how desperately everybody was trying to hold themselves together.

"I won't try so hard to censor myself, then," Seamus replied, attempting to force his mouth into a strange semblance of a smile.

"As if you've ever done that either," Dean said in a blank voice.

"It'll be okay," Harry repeated, leading Parvati over to the sofa to sit between Dean and Padma. "I want all of you lot to stay in here together, okay? We need to go find the others."

"Okay," Neville nodded. "Send me a Patronus if you need backup, yeah?"

"Right," Harry nodded. "None of you leave this room, understood? Not even as a group. Hermione will ward the door behind us. We should be back soon."

Scattered nods were his only response, and he turned to Ron and Hermione with a grim expression. They followed silently as he led them from the room, pausing long enough for Hermione to ward the door before they began to head down the corridor toward the snooker room in the opposite end of the Manor.

"So this means that we can definitely cross that lot in there off the list of suspects then, yeah?" Ron wondered, his voice a hard contrast to the soft sounds of footsteps against the floor beneath them.

"We can't eliminate anybody until we talk to the other group," Hermione said simply. "As well as the Slytherins. We need to find out the exact whereabouts of every single person in this house before we can determine anything."

"Let's just focus on Stephen for now," said Harry, one hand closed tightly around the handle of his wand.

"Which one is the snooker room?" Hermione asked, frowning at the sea of closed doors stretching before them.

"We're nearly there," Harry answered quietly. "It's that one up ahead, on the left." From behind the door Harry had indicated, he could hear the muffled sounds of voices and the sharp _clack_ of cue balls smacking together. The three of them clenched their wands tighter and stood to the side of the door as Harry tested the locked knob before rapping his knuckles against the wood, hoping no panicked spells would be fired at them. "Hey, it's Harry, Ron, and Hermione," he called. "Unlock the door, please."

There was no response.

Harry knocked louder. "Open the door! It's Harry!"

Still nothing; the voices did not fade, the cue balls did not stop _clacking_.

Hermione moved back as she frowned at the doorway, gesturing for Harry and Ron to step aside. The moment they did, she cast a series of spells, frown deepening as the lock clicked open and the door swung inward. The entire room went silent as they turned as one to face the three Gryffindors, and Harry saw more than one wand being hastily lowered at the sight of them.

"Oi, what're you lot here for?" Michael asked curiously. "You here for a game?"

"Don't fucking bother," Smith muttered, "Corner fucking cheats."

"And Smith fucking sucks," Michael shot back, "so feel free to play him if you want an easy win."

Stepping fully into the room, Harry stared around in bewilderment. Why was everyone so calm? Why were they still in the middle of a game? Why had nobody reacted to the sounds of Lisa and Susan being murdered? Granted, they were at the other end of the long hallway, but to not have heard anything…?

"Where are Stephen and Anthony?" Hermione asked sharply, eyes narrowed.

"Er, they went to the loo," Michael answered in confusion.

"How long have they been gone?" she pressed, ducking back out of the room to glance up and down the hallway before reentering and closing the door behind her.

"Um…few minutes, I suppose," Michael answered uncomfortably, and Harry saw Entwhistle and Smith exchange a look. "They're probably just lost though; it takes a bloody year to find a toilet 'round here."

"How long have all of you been in here?" Hermione continued, whipping out her tiny notebook and her biro and beginning to scribble furiously across a fresh page.

"What happened?" Zacharias demanded with a glare.

"Who else has left this room besides Stephen and Anthony?" Harry cut in, glaring right back at Zacharias. Lord, how he disliked and distrusted that man.

"Nobody," Justin shrugged uneasily. "Just them two."

"And exactly how long have the two of them been gone?" Hermione asked again, looking at each of the men in the room in turn. "I need an exact amount of time."

"…just a few minutes," Michael repeated. "I dunno for sure. Why do you need to know? Did something happen to them?" By the time he was finished speaking, his words were drenched in fear. "Oh god, should we have all gone with them? But they didn't go off alone! There were two of them! What happened to them?!"

The three Gryffindors exchanged a heavy glance, one that seemed to make the panic in the room grow more tangible.

"They're not the ones that something happened to—" Ron began, but Hermione interrupted him.

"Why was there a silencing ward placed on this room?" The question earned several looks of confusion. "We knocked twice and asked you to unlock the door," she explained, tucking a curl behind one ear and settling her weight on her back foot as she surveyed the four men. "But when none of you responded the second time, it struck me that you couldn't hear us. We could hear you, but you couldn't hear us, which is not the easiest of spells to cast. The magical locks placed on the door were actually easier to dismantle than the silencing ward. Who cast it?"

"What are you talking about?" Justin finally asked, gazing at her in bewilderment. "None of us cast a silencing ward on the door. We cast a few locking spells, but that was it."

"And those were placed both before and after Stephen and Anthony left the room?" Hermione asked him, one eyebrow raised.

Justin and Entwhistle glanced at one another, but it was Zacharias who spoke. "Those two were the ones who locked it after themselves, so they could let themselves back in once they got back."

The three Gryffindors exchanged another loaded look. "And you're absolutely sure that they were the only two to leave this room once the six of you came here?" Hermione inquired, biro zipping across the pages of her notebook.

"Yes," Zacharias huffed. "We're fucking sure, Granger."

"And why did the six of you decide to split from the group and come here?" she asked coolly.

"Um, maybe because it was dead boring in there and we wanted something to actually do?" Smith drawled sarcastically, rolling his eyes. At the tone, Ron glared and took a threatening step forward, but Hermione laid a hand on his arm to halt his procession.

"We told you not to split from the group," she said in an even frostier voice.

"No," Smith muttered, speaking down to the floor rather than the burning glare Ron was fixing him with. "You told us not to go off alone. And nobody has. There were six of us here and you've already said that nothing's happened, so what's the big deal about us choosing to find something to keep us from dying of boredom? Stephen and Anthony didn't go off alone, they're fine."

"I believe that Ron said they weren't the ones that something had happened to, not that nothing had happened," Hermione said quietly, and at the words, Harry felt the full attention of every person in the room snap onto her; even the air had sharpened in response.

"Who?" Michael whispered, stepping away from the snooker table. "Who was it this time?"

"It was Lisa and Susan," Harry answered, and Harry saw Entwhistle take a staggering step backward in response.

"Susan?" he breathed, eyes widened in horror. "Susan is dead?"

"Both of them are dead?" Smith asked sharply.

"Yes," Hermione said to both questions. "We heard screaming and found the two of them in a bathroom."

"But…we didn't hear any screaming," Michael said slowly, confusion and upset warring in his voice. "So, you're saying that whoever killed them…cast a silencing spell around this room first so we wouldn't hear them?"

"Oh please, we already know who it was!" Zacharias snapped. "The answer couldn't be any more obvious!"

"Smith—" Harry began, already knowing what Zacharias was going to say, but the other man only raised his voice and continued speaking.

"It was clearly the Slytherins! Every time they disappear somewhere together, somebody ends up dead! The only reason nobody died last night was because Potter was awake all night making sure none of them moved! But the second he turns his back, they're at it again! Why do you keep blaming everybody but them?!" Everybody turned to Harry to await his answer.

But he didn't have one.

He wasn't sure why it was the Slytherins that he was defending the most, other than his gut telling him that he was the only thing stopping them from being torn apart by a fearful mob. And no matter what anybody else thought, he didn't believe they were the guilty ones, despite not knowing the reasons behind that belief. And Harry knew who Smith was really blaming—he was blaming Malfoy. He wanted Malfoy to pay for every drop of blood that had been spilled in his home, even though Harry knew that Malfoy was not the guilty one. For one thing, he had been with Harry during Terry's murder and speaking to Harry during Hannah's. And for another thing, Harry had seen his face when he found out about Mandy's murder, which had taken place in a room that he and all the other Slytherins had been locked out of.

No, Harry knew they were not the ones to blame.

"None of them were in that room when Mandy was killed," he said quietly. "Malfoy was with me the entire time Terry had been missing. If they wanted us all dead, they would have killed us all the first night, not locked themselves up here with us to risk being torn apart by anyone who suspected them."

"Yeah, unless this is all some sick game to them!" Zacharias glared. "They're probably getting off on this! And all you're doing is helping them to continue!"

"And all you're doing is inciting panic and spreading fear," Harry said quietly. "All you've done this entire time is instigate, Smith, and try to turn everyone on everybody else. You're more of a danger than all of them combined."

"And you're an idiot if you think you can actually trust them!" Zacharias snapped.

"I trust them a hell of a lot more than I'll ever trust you," Harry responded coldly.

"Just knock it off already, Smith," Michael interrupted, shooting Zacharias a hard stare. "Harry's right, all you're doing is making everything worse."

"Yeah," Ron cut in, "for once in your life, Smith, just keep your fat mouth shut."

"Come on," Harry said to the others, turning away from the irritating blond. "We're going back to meet up with the others."

Nodding, they all set down the snooker cues they were gripping in tense hands and began to follow the three Gryffindors from the room. A tug on Harry's sleeve, however, made him stop, and he allowed the others to stride ahead as he glanced back at Michael Corner curiously.

"Harry," Michael said in a low voice, glancing around himself, "I need to tell you something. I would've mentioned it in the room but I found it strange that neither of them told you themselves."

"What is it?" Harry wondered, speaking softly as he too shot a glance around the hallway. The others were still in sight but did not appear close enough to overhear them.

"Smith said that nobody had left the room except for Stephen and Anthony once we got here," Michael began, sounding troubled, "and that's true, nobody did. But Justin and Zacharias weren't with us when we went to the snooker room. They came after."

"How much longer after?" Harry asked sharply. What did that mean that they had met up with the others after? Where had they been?

"Not too long after," Michael said, "less than a quarter of an hour."

_Still long enough to kill someone,_ Harry thought with sudden bubbling anger, willing himself to dismiss the suspicion until he had a chance to talk everything over with Ron and Hermione. "Right," he said finally, beginning to stride down the corridor once more, and Michael automatically fell into step beside him. "Thanks for letting me know, Michael."

"Why do you think they didn't say anything?" Michael frowned. "What does that mean that neither of them wanted to tell you that?"

"I'm not sure yet," Harry answered honestly. "But the fact that they didn't say anything I think is the most telling thing about it."

Michael nodded, a thoughtful, troubled look on his face. "I want to find Anthony," he said in a quiet voice. "They really have been gone far too long and I'm worried."

"We'll find him," Harry promised. "We'll find him and Stephen." _And once we do, we might actually get some answers._

oOo

Everybody was silent by the time Harry and Michael made it to the room the group was crowded in. He glanced around, noting that Stephen and Anthony were not present. Where the hell were they?

"I already split us into groups," Hermione told the two men. "We're going to separate into two groups and each comb a wing for Stephen and Anthony."

"I'm going to make sure the others are still okay," Harry said, noting the narrowing of Zacharias's eyes.

"You can't go alone—" Hermione began, but Harry cut her off.

"They don't trust anybody else. I'll be fine, Hermione, I promise." It wasn't a promise that he was entirely certain he could keep since he knew for a fact how little regard death had for promises and that a spoken vow would not stop death from claiming him if it came down to it. But he was determined all the same to find the Slytherins and make sure they were all right.

She stared at him for an entire age. "All right," she finally said in a soft voice. "I trust you to be able to handle yourself."

Harry nodded as he stepped back into the hallway, jerking his head in a small gesture to Ron, who followed him from the room. Taking several steps away from the door, he cast a privacy spell around the two of them.

"What is it?" Ron wondered, staring around the hallway as though the answer was spelled out on a wall somewhere.

"Keep an eye on Justin and Zacharias," Harry warned in a low voice. "Michael just told me that they weren't with the group when they first went to the snooker room. He said they showed up later."

Ron's eyes widened slightly. "Well, look at the both of them failing to mention that back there."

"I know," Harry agreed. "Michael told me afterward because he thought it was suspicious that they didn't tell us themselves."

"And didn't you say that Smith was wandering about on his own earlier today?" Ron asked, tilting his head in thought.

"Yeah, he was upstairs…" Harry trailed off before finding himself suddenly gripped by panic. "He knows where the Slytherins are, Ron, he followed me to find out! What if that's where Justin and Zacharias were? Oh, fuck! Stay with Hermione!" Turning, he began to sprint in the direction of the stairs, feeling his heart hammer fiercely in his chest. Were the Slytherins okay? What if Justin and Zacharias had succeeded in breaking into the room?

But no, Harry tried to reassure himself. They wouldn't attack so openly like that, not if they were the ones behind all the murders. And even if they had, they would be outnumbered five to two. The Slytherins were fine, they were all fine. Harry would go upstairs and find them all safe and alive.

_Please god, let them all be fine._

Taking the stairs two at a time, Harry ran down the hallway toward Malfoy's bedroom, repeating _they're fine, they're fine, they're fine_ to himself in a constant echo of assurance that wasn't as assuring as Harry would have liked.

Finally, after what felt like a year, Harry arrived at Draco's doorway, forcing himself to knock calmly rather than pounding on it with a fist like he wanted to. He had no desire to panic any of them or be immediately hexed by making them think it was an enemy outside the door.

"Draco!" he called, knocking louder. "Draco, it's me, open the door! Er, quidditch!"

Several moments passed before he heard a lock click open and saw the door swing inward to reveal a rather ashen-faced Draco Malfoy. "What happened?" he demanded immediately, grabbing Harry by the collar and hauling him into the room. "We thought we heard screaming. Who was it?" Blaise hurried over to shut the door behind Harry before beginning to ward it rather impressively.

"It was Lisa and Susan," he told them in a soft voice.

"Somebody killed Bones?" Nott said, sitting up on the sofa he had been reclining on. "But that's like killing a bunny rabbit. She might be the most harmless person I think I've ever met."

Harry nodded in agreement, throat tight and eyes hot. So many of their friends and classmates were dead, and Harry could not stop it. He could not stop the bloodshed, he could not prevent the death that hung over the entire house like a thunderous storm cloud raining down rage and despair over the Manor, a bloodred storm intent on seeing every single one of them dead.

"Where?" Malfoy asked in a hard voice, and Harry wondered what the man was thinking.

"We found the two of them in a bathroom," the brunet said quietly. "We're still trying to figure out what happened."

"Two at once," Parkinson murmured, appearing shocked. Zabini crossed the room to enfold her in an embrace, one that made Harry's throat tighten even further.

"Please tell me you have some idea of who's doing this," Davis said to him, a pleading edge to her words.

Harry hesitated, unwilling to disclose specifics until he had more concrete proof to offer them. "Some idea," he told her, wishing he could offer them more.

Sighing in resignation, she nodded and turned away, gazing through a large window down at the expansive grounds below, so close and yet so unreachable. The Slytherins fell silent, a silence so loud it seemed to ring from every surface of the room.

A sudden tug on Harry's arm caught his attention and he glanced over his shoulder to find Malfoy staring at him intensely. The moment their eyes met, he pulled Harry over to a distant corner of the large room, throwing up the same tricky silencing spell that he had used in the library, allowing the two of them to hear the room but not allowing the rest of the room to hear them.

"Who?" he said simply, the single word weighted in demand.

Harry sighed, raking an unhappy hand through his hair. He knew that Malfoy would not accept another vague, avoidant answer. "We have our eyes on a few."

" _Who?"_ the blond repeated, stepping closer until the two men were only inches from one another. The proximity gave Harry the strange urge to reach out and touch Draco, just to make certain he was real and whole and safe.

Harry shook his head. "I'll tell you once I start feeling more certain. But until then…" he sighed again. "I just don't want my own personal suspicions to influence anybody into doing anything rash."

Malfoy stared at him in growing frustration. "Potter—"

"I'm glad that you're okay," Harry interrupted, cutting Malfoy off before he could either scold or insult the brunet. "I was worried."

The statement visibly startled Malfoy, who dropped his defensive stance in surprise as he eyed Harry as though attempting to pierce his skin with a stare intense enough to peel back his flesh and uncover the truth hidden beneath. "You were?" He sounded bewildered, almost as though he had never had another person express concern for his well-being.

Harry frowned as he jerked his head in a single nod. He did not want to admit just how worried he really had been, but he was starting to suspect that his concern might have a deeper, undiscovered reason lurking behind it, a reason he knew might just be safer to ignore.

Malfoy fell back half a step as he blinked at Harry, appearing unsure how to respond, and Harry found himself once again wondering what the man was thinking. "Harry…" he said uncertainly.

"We should probably go join the others," Harry said, feeling uncomfortable at the sudden intensity of the moment. "I can practically feel Parkinson burning a hole in the back of my head with her gaze."

One corner of Malfoy's lips twitched upward. "You're not wrong there," he said as he raised his wand to cancel the spell around them.

"So," Zabini drawled as they strode back over to the others, "what secrets were the two of you trading over there that the rest of us can't know about, hmm?"

"Yes, Draco," Nott spoke up from the sofa, "do tell."

"You know how much the four of us love secrets," Parkinson added.

"I know how terrible the four of you are at keeping them," Malfoy muttered.

"Bollocks," Nott said in a bored voice. "None of us have told Potter yet about how much you secretly want to f—"

"Theo!" Draco snapped, face flushing angrily as he shot Harry a quick look out of the corner of his eye. What had Nott been about to say?

"He'll figure it out eventually, Draco," Nott said with his usual air of indifference. "You're not exactly subtle, you know. And whilst no means brilliant, he's not as big an idiot as you liked to pretend he was in school."

"He's also standing right here," Harry interrupted, sounding exasperated. Christ, he hated when people spoke about him while he was standing right next to them. It was something the Dursleys had done constantly throughout his childhood, acting as though he did not have ears and could not understand what they were saying.

"Ignore him, Potter," Draco said smoothly, shooting Nott one last glare before turning from the sofa he was sat on. "Theo doesn't know what he's saying. Ever."

"Don't listen to _him_ , Potter," Nott cut in, waving one hand lazily in Malfoy's direction. "Theo _does_ know what he's saying. Always. Take a moment and think about what I said. It should not take a person of even less than adequate intelligence longer than three seconds to figure out what I meant."

"Do you lot always speak in such riddles?" Harry sighed, wondering if there would ever come a point in his life where he was not constantly feeling confused at everything that came out of the mouths of the five Slytherins in the room.

"Where's the fun in unambiguity?" Nott drawled. "You're far too candid, Potter. Your everyday conversations must be ever so dull."

Harry rolled his eyes. "My conversations are fine, Nott, thank you."

"You are so very welcome," the man said, and Harry wondered if he had ever heard a more apathetic tone of voice in his entire life.

Parkinson snorted into Zabini's chest, but Harry noticed the way she still clutched at his robes with desperate, frightened fingers.

"So what happens now?" a quiet voice asked, and Harry turned to Davis, who was still staring through the window with a lost expression on her face. "What do we do now?"

"We stay here," Parkinson said immediately. "We stay where it's safe."

"Seconded," Nott said, lying back down and stretching out on the sofa.

"No," Harry shook his head. "You lot need to be part of the decision-making 'round here. And if you do nothing but lock yourselves away out of sight, they may begin to think you really are the ones behind it and actively seek you out."

"They would have to find us first," Nott pointed out.

"Well…" Harry hesitated, unsure if he should reveal that they had already been found.

"What?" Zabini narrowed his eyes.

"They, er, already have," Harry responded uncomfortably. "Smith knows where Draco's bedroom is. He followed us up here earlier and saw which room I came out of."

"Smith?" Zabini asked in a voice like steel. " _Smith_ fucking knows? What the fuck is he following us around for? There's only one reason he would need to know where we are, and that's if he was planning on doing something with the information."

"I think Potter is suggesting we do something about the situation before Smith has a chance to use the information," Nott said.

"No," Harry argued, "he is definitely not suggesting that. I told you because I didn't want to keep something like that from you and so you lot could know to have your guard up around him. But I do _not_ want this situation escalated any further than it already has been."

"He needs to be dealt with _now_ ," Zabini disagreed in a hard voice. "Have you not heard how many times he has openly accused and threatened us? We already know that he wishes us harm, Potter. And now you're saying that he's sneaking around by himself just to find out where we are?"

"Look," Harry sighed, wanting to rub his temples, "I told you because it directly affects the lot of you, not so that you could take matters into your own hands. Smith is all talk, you know that."

Zabini raised one eyebrow. "Are you saying that words cannot be just as dangerous as wands?"

"I'm saying that the situation is already dangerous enough without actively seeking out a fight."

"Not even if that fight would prevent our deaths?" Zabini shot back, tightening his hold on Parkinson. "Say what you want about keeping the situation from escalating, but the truth is that someone in this house is killing us off one by one. We don't have the luxury of sitting back and keeping our mouths shut for the sake of peace when any one of us may be the next to die! And out of every single person in this house, Smith is the one I trust the least and the one who hates us the most. And now you're saying that he knows where we are? And that he followed us to find that information out? No, Potter, I refuse to accept that quietly. Just the fact that he was wandering around on his own is suspicious enough to warrant an investigation into his motives, is it not? But to wander around on his own just to find out where the five of us are…" he trailed off, allowing the silence to fill in his missing words.

"I never said that the matter would not be handled," Harry argued. "I just said that I didn't want any of you five taking the matter into your own hands and doing something rash."

"And how exactly will the matter be handled?" Malfoy asked quietly.

Harry stared at him. "I don't have any answers right now," he admitted. "Just give me a chance to speak to Ron and Hermione about everything and we'll decide what to do about him. I'll tell you as soon as we reach a decision, but until then, I'm asking that you refrain from antagonizing anybody in this house. If a fight breaks out and everybody becomes divided, it could be very bad for all of us."

Malfoy and Zabini exchanged a weighted look, and Harry felt something in his chest tighten at their easy ability to hold a silent conversation with one another. "Fine, Potter," Zabini said with narrowed eyes. "We'll wait for the moment and not confront him directly about it. _But_ ," he stressed the word, "if he chooses to confront any of us, I won't be held responsible for how I respond. I'm done putting up with his accusations and his prejudices. And if he threatens a single one of us one more time, I _will_ show him that we are not ones to take threats lightly."

"I understand," Harry said simply, expecting nothing less from the man. Zabini nodded as he relaxed his tense posture.

"So now that that's decided," Malfoy said, eyeing Harry in a way that made him feel exposed, "what do we do now?"

A grim expression settled over Harry's face. "Now, we go meet up with the others."

Harry had suspects to question.

**TBC**


End file.
